


Er... Mistletoe?

by bubbysbub



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas Fluff, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Lots of oc family members, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/pseuds/bubbysbub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's first winter in Erebor, he decides to indulge in some Hobbit traditions. His stupid Dwarrows don't seem to mind. Plus, it has the added bonus of taking his mind off what may be happening between himself and that ridiculously handsome King of his.</p>
<p>Heyerette expressed a desire for Christmas Bagginshield Fix-it to make owies feel better for the festive season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heyerette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyerette/gifts).



> Coming up in two parts, partially because apparently long stories are easier to read this way, and also because I just want to try and tweak a little bit in the second half. Eep!
> 
> A massive Christmas cheer for Beta-Beth, since she whipped through this fast as lightening to find all my ATROCIOUS spelling mistakes, and had this back in my inbox like BAM, HERE'S THE FIC. Whoa, woman. I adore you.

"I... don't really understand," Thorin admitted.

Bilbo huffed from his place on the floor, but being that he was half buried in amongst a forest of leaves, he didn't bother with any real response.

Thorin eyed the mountain of... well. 

Tree. 

There was a tree. In his gathering room.

A large tree.

In his rooms.

"I... don't understand," he admitted again. 

Bilbo backed out from under the tree and shot him a fond look. 

"I told you, it is for my little celebration," he said, absently flicking leaf matter from his face. Thorin's fingers twitched.

"Your Hobbit celebration," he said dubiously, giving in to the urge to take a few steps forward and carefully smooth a few more leaves from Bilbo's curls.

"Yes, my Hobbit celebration."

"In which we need... this," Thorin said dubiously, gesturing to the great hulking thing stretching almost to the high vaulted ceiling above.

"Well," Bilbo huffed, hands finding their way to his hips. "It is traditional."

Thorin eyed the tree. It wasn't much like any other tree that he had ever seen. Not that he ever really bothered paying much attention to trees; one was as much a tree as another. This one was very dark green and very dense, in an almost bell shape, tapering towards the ceiling. And at the end of each of its many, many, _many_ branches, the thick oval leaves flowered out into silvery clusters that almost looked like flowers. He supposed it was pretty enough. And at least it had the good graces to come with a touch of decent colouring, though the silver was very pale. Nice enough with the dark foliage.

Why was it in his rooms?

"If you want, I will have it removed," Bilbo said, giving it one woeful look. Really, it was a little foolish of making the assumption that Thorin wouldn't mind. Served him right to have to take it down when he had just seen it set up!

"No, that's... No. If you have a traditional celebration you would like us to participate in, than this..." Thorin eyed the tree again dubiously, but shrugged. "I am happy to have a tree in my rooms."

"A tree branch, really," Bilbo said, smiling a little bashfully. Thorin was so very kind to him, even as he looked so bewildered! "It is also traditional," Bilbo said, smile dancing around the edges of his lips as he stepped closer, "to decorate the tree with silver coins and yellow fruit."

"Yellow fruit?" Thorin tried to keep the distaste from his voice, but it may have been that his face twisted a little at the thought. And silver coins? Silver was a good metal, but what was wrong with gold? Gold was a good metal to represent celebration.

"Yellow fruit are the closest thing to golden fruit that Hobbits can manage," Bilbo informed him, smile breaking through at seeing Thorin's aborted resignation. "The silver coins are usually to simulate silver flowers. Some of the more prosperous families, though, have beautiful intricate decorations of silver and gold made for their trees. I wondered that perhaps, here amongst one of the richest mountains of the land, with some of the finest silver and gold workers, that perhaps..."

Thorin brightened.

"Golden fruit, you say?" he mused. 

"And silver flowers," Bilbo chuckled, unable to hold back his amusement. "Sometimes silver stars, or small balls to represent the moon. Bells are popular."

"Gems?" Thorin asked eagerly.

"Not very traditional," Bilbo hedged, but seeing the eagerness on Thorin's face, he sighed. "This particular variety of tree is often entwined with a vine that produces red berries. The effect is quite pleasing, so often red berries or flowers work their way into the arrangement-"

"Rubies," Thorin interrupted, eyes bright with ideas. "Perhaps garnets. Even jasper? But they would have to be set into silver at least, to be seen amongst the darkness of the green. What about white?"

"White? Er, yes, I suppose, since-"

"I have pearls," Thorin nodded. "Pearls would be very pleasing amongst the rest. My mother..." Thorin trailed off, eyes distant for a moment.

Bilbo moved closer, fascinated by the mention of a member of Thorin's family. His King was so very closed off at times, and Bilbo was so very eager to know anything and everything about the one that fascinated him so.

"Your mother?" he prompted gently. He of course, would love to hear about Thorin's family, but he didn't want to upset him. Thorin shrugged, though, and smiled fondly when he glanced at Bilbo.

"My mother loved pearls, and my father had a hefty sum placed on their value, so many traders of Men would come in the summer with what they had found, sometimes small crates of them! My mother loved them so much, she once decorated for an event while hosting a delegation from Mirkwood. It was a rather important event, though I cannot recall why. She adorned the feast hall with great bushy trees similar to these, in an attempt to please the guests. She had pearls strung amongst the boughs, and tiny glass decorations that glittered in the candle light. It was very beautiful. I thought she had used magic for certain, to create such a sight, so ethereal was the scene she set. I was very young," he hastened to defend himself, but Bilbo moved closer still, and took Thorin's hand in his own, leaning into him in gratitude of the shared memory.

"Do you think you can help me create that, here? A scene of magical delight?" he asked, aiming for a teasing tone, but instead sounding more than a little yearning.

"Is that...?"

"Traditional? Yes, a sense of wonder and magic is the goal, to create that feeling in all that surround the date. It's the general idea, anyway."

Thorin hummed thoughtfully, before his face stretched into a soft smile.

"I will see what I can do," he promised, hand rising to wrap gently around Bilbo's shoulder.

Bilbo smiled, leaning into Thorin, and Thorin's smile stretched wide and happy, and Bilbo felt his heart bounce and reel, and made himself step backwards, trying not to notice Thorin's smile dimming slightly.

"I should go and do that then," Thorin said, hand squeezing once before falling away as he stepped back and hurried from the room.

Bilbo sighed.

***

Three days later, the mountain was awash with trees.

There were trees in corners, trees on pedestals and trees in miniature forests in the middle of halls. Trees hanging upside down from the ceiling, and one lot trying to mount them from the walls like odd bristling torches. 

They were stunning.

"This is completely ridiculous," Bilbo muttered, gently setting a silver bell to tinkling.

"I think it's quite pretty," Kíli said, circling one of the newest trees.

"Fancy doing all this to indulge my silly Hobbit customs."

Kíli grinned and nudged him, pulling him into his side to hug him one-armed.

"Uncle would do just about anything for you, Bilbo."

Bilbo did not know what to say to that. He sighed instead, wrapping his arm around Kíli's waist in return, and turning them to look again at the tree in the centre of the mini forest in the Hall of Kings. It was, in Bilbo's humble opinion, one of the prettiest so far.

Dwarrows, he had discovered, actually had wonderful sense of taste. Bilbo had honestly expected a lot more... _gaudiness_ , and truthfully, there were some that had made Bilbo's eyebrows raise -not that Hobbits were immune to the gauche at times; the Bracegirdle tree year before last had been dreadful!- but still, Bilbo had been ever so stunned to realise that Dwarrows had a deft hand at placement and colour. He'd been ashamed to realise he had made quite the prejudiced assumption. Of course Dwarrows would have a unique and well attuned sense of placement and colour coordination. They were the greatest craftsmen in all of Middle Earth! Bilbo had been careful to keep his surprise at their taste to himself.

There were some things that he could not keep quiet about, however.

"Why," he said with no small amount of exasperation, even as he set one small glass creation to spinning, " _Why_ would Thorin order his people to divert from the restoration of the mountain to decorate it with trees?"

"Oh, he didn't," Kíli reassured him. "Thorin started out doing all this on his own. He's just not very good at glass work, so some of the glaziers took over once they knew what he wanted."

Bilbo reached out a finger to gently touch one beautiful glass ball, clear at the top, and swirling down to a milky white in the bottom in wisp-like clouds. No Hobbit had ever had anything so beautiful on their trees before, he was sure.

"Of course, then the crystal workers got in on that," Kíli continued, and Bilbo gave him a sharp look.

" _You're_ a crystal worker," he pointed out, and Kíli at least had the sense to look somewhat abashed.

"Well, I had these pretty crystals with patterns like snowflakes, and I just thought..."

Bilbo humphed, but tightened his grip around the lad's waist. The very stones he was speaking of were hanging from what the Company was calling 'Bilbo's tree', in Thorin's rooms. 

It had been a whim, really, on the way back from a trip down to visit Bard and see how the slow recovery of Dale was coming along, to ask one of his -completely unneeded, thank you- escort, to lend him an axe to chop off a small limb from a Telpe tree off the side of the newly stamped road. The Dwarrows with him had all given him the queerest of looks, but instead of just handing him an axe to do the job himself, they'd hastened to do the job themselves, quickly and efficiently removing one large branch from the tree and loading it onto their cart. The branch had been _quite_ a lot larger than the one that Bilbo himself would have taken, but he hadn't the heart to tell them otherwise, and thanked them for their assistance.

Of course, once they had reached the mountain and asked Bilbo what he would like them to do with said tree, was when he had realised that his little indulgence would simply not fit in the small room he had chosen for himself -to Thorin's, and really, all the Company's loud objections; the room he had chosen was within the Royal wing where Thorin was settled and the others in homes nearby, but was apparently something along the lines of a storage cupboard. Honestly, Bilbo didn't know what the fuss was all about. It was large enough for one small Hobbit, and quite cosy, thank you very much. It wasn't as if he should even be there, by any rights, being merely a simple Hobbit in such grand surroundings as the Palatial residences. It served him well, at any rate. Large enough for one Hobbit, but unfortunately, not quite large enough for Festive décor.

He wasn't quite sure what had prompted him to have them deposit it in Thorin's gathering room. 

Despite Thorin's grumblings of tiny leaves on his floors and in his sheets and somehow always in his boots, he hadn't had the thing removed so far. The Company was calling it Bilbo's tree, and if there was a tree to pick in the mountain that was by far the prettiest, it was Bilbo's.

"Anyway," Kíli said, reaching to flick a set of dangling crystals on a nearby branch. "Once I started, the others in my guild all jumped on board to help me give those snooty glaziers a run for their money. But we needed our own tree to, well, test them on, so we asked some of the hunters to grab us a few."

Bilbo sighed.

"And then you had that massive hissy at us over chopping down whole trees-"

" _Hissy?_ " Bilbo sputtered. "I made my objections to the massacre of innocent trees known. Fancy cutting the whole thing down -those trees are giant!- when a branch will suffice? Honestly."

"Yeah, well after you had that hissy, some of the others came to see what the fuss was all about. And Fíli got the Filigree Artisans and the Silversmiths on the job as well. Annoyed the stuffing out of Uncle, but once he got down there joining in the fun, he mellowed."

Bilbo sighed yet again, tugging Kíli sideways so that he could admire a particularly beautiful silver creation in pride of place centre mass of the tree. Tiny ornate silver flowers twined in a wreath of intricately detailed leaves, not unlike the leaves the decoration nestled in. 

"You like that one?" Kíli asked with an odd smile.

"I do," Bilbo said, running his fingers over the leaves one last time before allowing his hand to fall away. "Very much. I have something similar on my tree."

"Yes you do. Both Thorin's work. He had Ori tracking down all sorts of pictures of flowers for him to model from. Because Hobbits like flowers, apparently."

Bilbo felt his face flush, and let his head fall forward, curls obscuring his face from Kíli's knowing gaze. Honestly, he had no idea what was going on between himself and his prickly Dwarf King. Thorin _seemed_ to like him, and Bilbo tried to convince himself it was in a way that was promising, considering what he felt himself for Thorin. Even still, it was difficult to tell, and just at the moments when Bilbo felt that a moment between them might be significant, he'd start to wonder whether everything he thought there might be between them existed purely in his own hopeful imagination and he would find himself blustering in a ridiculous manner and half running from his poor bewildered Dwarf. It was frustrating, since Bilbo was becoming more sure that Thorin was merely grateful for all his assistance, and saw him as no more than a friend, an acquaintance, really, towards which he perhaps felt honour bound to keep about.

But then something like this would happen, and Bilbo would feel himself getting his own hopes up again. Bebother and confusticate his silly hopeless heart.

Kíli unhooked the floral wreath from the tree and pocketed it with a wink, moving one of the beautiful filigree balls into place instead. The balls were another wonder; each was hinged in the middle, and small cups inside held the odd glowing mixture the Dwarrows used to light lanterns in the mines. The placement of what seemed to be dozens of the things gave the impression of the trees lit from within and made the elegant glass and metal ornaments glow and glimmer in the most magical of ways. It was the most stunning display Bilbo had ever seen.

"You have to know that Uncle admires you a great deal," Kíli said, steering them both from the gallery and along the terrace that was the most picturesque route to the upper residences where the Royal family lived.

What was he to say to that? It was relieving to know that Kíli believed Thorin was somewhat fond of him, but how does one ask whether that fondness was _fondness_ , especially from the nephew of Bilbo's crush?

Instead, he waved to a few of the guards he knew and nodded to a scribe that rushed past him and very carefully held back another sigh when Dori appeared on the other side of him and silently handed him a pure white bell, made from a smooth sort of clay, with a perfectly rounded stone clanger on a wire that tinkled beautifully when shook.

"Thank you Dori," he said quietly.

Dori clucked a little and said nothing, and they walked silently on to Thorin's rooms. Bilbo was not surprised to find several members of The Company already at home in the rooms; despite being Thorin's chambers, they all seemed to congregate there as if common rooms for the whole group. Dwalin was sprawled in a lounge chair nursing a tankard and regarding Bilbo's tree lazily, and Balin was chattering at him from behind a large stack of papers of some kind, while Bifur and Bombur were sitting playing a board game -one that was mathematically based, Bilbo had found, and quite beyond him- off to the side. Crossing to add his beautiful new Dori bell to his tree, Bilbo found several more already dotted about the branches in artful disorder. He seemed to have also gained a series of tiny carved roses, made from a lovely milky ivory stone and expertly detailed, placed here and there discretely in the bows.

"Nori," Dori said simply, when Bilbo fingered one thoughtfully, and Bilbo sighed.

"You're both very kind," he said quietly, sitting down beneath the boughs of his tree to plop his chin in his hand and stare morosely amongst the work of wonder.

"What's got his knickers in a twist?" Dwalin asked behind him, and Bilbo huffed another sigh.

"He's mooning over Uncle," Kíli said cheerfully, coming to fish out the pretty silver wreath out of his jerkin and hang it carefully on Bilbo's tree, adding a few almost-clear stones shaped into icicles that he had apparently been hiding away on himself. 

"It's going to be too full to add anything else to, soon," Bilbo mused, watching Kíli carefully reorganise a few ornaments to suit his purpose.

"We'll have another brought in, then," Balin said absently, still shuffling his documents back and forth. 

"Thorin may not like that," Bilbo said, shifting about so he could see the others and the tree all at once. 

"Bah," Dwalin said lazily, propping his feet up on the low table before him, ignoring his brother's cursing when he crinkled several of his scrolls. "Thorin'd let you have whatever your little hobbity heart desired."

Bilbo frowned thoughtfully, standing and gently running a finger over the silver wreath Kíli had claimed for him and left the room without one more word to any of them.

***

"Are you alright?" Thorin demanded loudly, stomping over to the small corner of the gigantic communal kitchens that Bilbo had tucked himself into for his current business. 

Thorin did not wait for a response, plucking him from his standing stool -even that what was made for Dwarrows at their more sensible size was still slightly too large for Bilbo- and checking him over, spinning him this way and that to check his body for... well, Bilbo was not quite sure. He made sure to keep his floured hands well away from Thorin's lovely velvet robes, though. He'd been busy kneading the biscuit dough for rolling when Thorin had rushed in all a-bothered, straight from something important, if the regal crown and intricate embroidered and bejewelled robes were anything to go by.

"Thorin?" he attempted over Thorin's muttering to himself. "Thorin, I am quite well, though I am not so certain that you yourself are!"

" _I?_ " Thorin exclaimed incredulously, though he did cease his slightly frantic manhandling. " _I_ did not go wandering off to the markets without escort, only to go trading with the Easterners!"

"Oh," Bilbo said sheepishly. "That. Well, they weren't that bad, really. I know that many have deep suspicions of any Man travelling out of the East, but they truly were not so terrible. _Wonderful_ spices, so very exotic and aromatic. I bought much from them."

It had been, well, another small whim of his. He seemed to be having many very UnBagginsish impulses lately. Word of the reclamation of the Lonely Mountain had spread far, and Thorin had made it known that the riches of the mountain were free to flow generously to any that came to trade. Within weeks, the markets were established and all sorts of goods pouring into the mountain from far across the lands, even in the midst of winter. They traders had not been disappointed; Thorin was making certain that the Dwarrows that had suffered all these years would never again to be hungry or cold or ill, or without any sort of luxury that they had previously done without. Much gold was changing hands in the ever growing market place and all parties were leaving well satisfied.

Apparently -according to Óin, that was- Men from the East had once been regular traders in the Markets of the Lonely Mountain, coming to trade many wares that were popular with the Dwarrows of Erebor of old. It had been a point of contention with Erebor's allies, but the combined Markets of Dale and Erebor had been some of the most expansive in all the lands, and Thorin could not turn the contingent away that had ridden in from the wastes of the Eastern wilds a mere month after the dust had settled after the great battle. They had promised they had come for naught but peaceful trade, and so far had stuck to that promise. Bilbo had been wary of the tall beings in their odd dress, but they had been polite enough, and their stalls had smelt so very good! He'd ended up speaking with them amicably for quite a while, and parted with a pouch of treasure eagerly, coming back to his little square of kitchen that always seemed to be ready for him, and had whiled away the morning attempting a few of the suggestions the Men had given him and trying a few of his favourite recipes with some of his purchases. Much to the delight of the other Dwarrows cooking in the kitchens, as Bilbo had scurried around with a tea tray and some of his creations to be taste-tested by mouths other than his own. 

Thorin sighed loudly, pressing one large finger to the bridge of his nose and allowing his eyes to fall shut.

"Bilbo," he started, falling silent again. He opened his eyes and stared at Bilbo a moment, moving forward to carefully cup Bilbo's face between big, warm hands and study him a moment. 

"Bilbo," he began again, gentler this time. "I... worry for you. I do not wish for any harm to come to you, not here, not-" He cut himself off again, sighing deeply as his thumbs smoothed over Bilbo's flushed cheeks. "Not here, in this mountain. I wish no harm to come to you here."

"None will," Bilbo said hesitantly, feeling himself sway into Thorin's touch. "I just wanted something special for the baking."

"Baking?" Thorin asked, giving one last sweep of his thumbs across Bilbo's skin before letting his hands fall away. "Baking for what?"

"The celebrations," Bilbo said, flustered. He turned back to his bench, arm gesturing expansively to his collection. "Biscuits and cakes and good puddings, oh, anything truly wonderful to eat, one makes at this time of year. Give them as gifts, bring them as offerings at all the parties that spring up, and a great feast, of course, at the main event. Scones and pies and pastries and breads of all kinds, from seeded to cheese to fruity. Oh, the smells that waft the whole of the Shire! The time when each and every Hobbit really flaunts what wealth he has."

"Wealth?" Thorin asked, amusement dripping thick in his tone.

"The wealth of Hobbits," Bilbo said, flustered, and flapped his hands at the Dwarf. "I am a Hobbit, and that means-"

"Comfort, yes, I know," Thorin said, grinning widely at Bilbo's frustration. He relaxed then, assisting Bilbo back onto his step, and drawing a stool out from beneath the bench to sit. Bilbo wiped his hands long enough to tug his knitted cosy -a present from young Ori- off his teapot and test the temperature, and satisfied, poured Thorin a cup. A plate of the best of his experiments went with it and Thorin hummed happily around a bite of fresh biscuit flavoured with thyme and an eastern spice that Bilbo had already forgotten the name of, but was pleasantly reminiscent of fruit and warmth to taste. 

"And is it only baked goods that are important to this occasion?" Thorin asked around a mouthful, slurping his tea in a most unmajestic way. Bilbo shook his head fondly at the eagerness Thorin was displaying with putting his little plate of biscuits away. He snorted as he went back to kneading his dough.

"Oh no, not at all! Now is when the poulterer has the best and fattest of geese hanging in his window, and duck as well, and Farmer Brownfoot's smoke house is fit to bursting with his special cured hams. The Men of Bree know to step up their hunts and come to visit us with the choicest of their venison and pheasants, and be well rewarded for their troubles. There is creamy butter and carefully kept jams and crocks of honey, and the best of the stored fruits and vegetables. All the nicest kinds of sweets, toffees that stick your teeth together and boiled jawlockers so big you can barely get your mouth around them. This," he finished with a flourish of his rolling pin, "is comfort at its finest. A warm hearth, excellent fare, and the ones you love most gathered close."

Thorin hummed, chewing slowly on a lovely little sugar biscuit, washing it down with the dregs of his tea and swiping the crumbs from his beard, these days braided finely into a neat, gold trimmed plait, now that it was growing again, though why he had not allowed it to grow until Erebor had been reclaimed, Bilbo did not know, and suspected he would not like the answer to. Regardless, Bilbo found himself most days eying that beard braid keenly. It was _most_ attractive. Even now, bobbing slightly as Thorin chewed his last biscuit slowly, reaching to pour himself another cup of tea. 

Bilbo got on with rolling and cutting while Thorin sipped from his cup, silent and contemplating. Not a word was said for the entire cup, quiet and staring at nothing before he drained it again and nodded decisively.

"I will leave you to your craft, then," Thorin said softly. "But I will ask this of you. Should you have need of special ingredients again, please ask one of the Mountain's negotiators for assistance in acquiring what you need. And if you will not take some of your guard when you visit the Markets, at least ask a member of the Company. Promise me?"

Bilbo nodded slowly, not really understanding the fuss, really, but Thorin did seem so terribly worried. 

"I promise," he said, reaching under the tea towel cover beside him and retrieving a scone. He handed it to Thorin and was gifted one of those grins again, and the King was off, munching happily as he swept from the kitchens.

A dwarf at a nearby counter snorted loudly and smirked at Bilbo.

"Oh, you _are_ besotted," he said, sniffing and grinning and wandering off with a bucket full of peeled potatoes. Bilbo gaped for a moment, flushing red in embarrassment before sighing and thumping his rolling pin onto his dough.

Dwarves.

***

A few days later, Bilbo was growing a little suspicious. There were an awful lot of hunting parties ranging out in all directions for game, and the Ereborian traders were being _quite_ free with their gold. The store houses of the Lonely Mountain were positively groaning. The kitchens were a flurry of production. The smells were delicious.

Bilbo said nothing, however, choosing to let this one go, as his concentration turned to other matters. 

Important matters. 

_Very_ important matters. That may have compelled him to, to... well. He hadn't broken his promise. Not really.

All right, maybe a little. 

Which is why he was hiding. Not terribly successfully, as it turned out, when Thorin yanked him from his little reading nook and shook him by the scruff of the neck.

"I thought I told you not to go back to the Eastern Men!" he growled, spare arm waving, and the other giving Bilbo another shake.

"You did not! You said to ask for assistance from your Pursers if I needed, or ask one of the Company to come with me," Bilbo said defensively, squirming until Thorin released him.

"No, I said to take one of the Company with you to trade, period, and for you to leave it to the Pursers to deal with the Easterlings. And of all the Company members to take with you to Market, you chose _Ori?_ " Thorin yelled, pacing back and forth with his hands waving once again.

"Ori is impressive in a fight, and you know it," Bilbo said, waggling one admonishing finger in Thorin's face.

"When he's _armed_ ," Thorin snapped.

"He had a knife!"

A loud snort came from behind one of the nearby racks, and Ori poked his head out from behind a stack of books, looking very red and flustered.

"Had you warned me where we were going, I would have borrowed Mister Dwalin's war hammer again," Ori said snottily, and pulled his head back around the corner.

"I couldn't take the Pursers," Bilbo insisted quickly, when Thorin turned to him triumphantly. "They write down _everything_ , and Ori is the only member of the Company that I trusted to keep a secret. Apparently, that was _ill_ placed trust," he finished with a mutter, scowling at the pile of books. So much for his super secret reading nook.

"Why would you want to keep this a secret from me?" Thorin yelled, tugging at his own hair in frustration.

"Because I needed to buy the last part of your gift!" Bilbo hollered back, his own arms waving about now.

Thorin went still, eyeing him with a frown of pure befuddlement.

"Gift?"

" _Yes_ ," Bilbo hissed, tugging his waistcoat back into place and folding his arms across his chest defensively. "And I was getting worried that I would not find anything suitable. The main event is just two weeks away, you know! I wasn't sure if I would have everybody done in time."

"Presents." Thorin stared at him. "Presents are a part of your celebration."

"Umm," Bilbo's arms dropped to his sides when he saw the flummoxed look on Thorin's face. "Yes?"

"And you have gifts? For us?" Glóin asked curiously, head bobbing over the top of a storage crate.

"It's traditional to bestow gifts on one's family at the main event, yes," Bilbo confirmed. "And you lot, well-"

He was cut off when he was smushed into Ori's front. And then Bifur's. And Glóin's. And Fíli and Kíli's and really, the whole Company had turned out to watch Thorin rouse on him? At least he was getting some nice cuddles out of it.

"We must set to work, then," Thorin announced, eyes gleaming. "To find gifts for you, then, little Hobbit."

"Oh, no!" Bilbo protested, tried to, at any rate, but Óin gave astonishingly good hugs, and he was a little busy enjoying it to sound terribly against the idea. "It is my tradition. There is no need for you to go to the trouble."

"Nonsense," Bofur said, chucking him on the chin and grinning. "Sounds lovely. Gifts for all, I say!"

"Quite right," Balin said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Just the other day, I came across something that would suit my brother well. Off to the markets, I am!" And off he marched, the others waving themselves and wandering off looking thoughtful, leaving Bilbo with Thorin.

"I really do not need-" he started, but Thorin shook his head sharply, and abruptly started to chuckle.

"You are a wonder, my Hobbit," he said, running one affectionate hand down Bilbo's arm, making him shiver. "Presents for all," he muttered, and with one last grin, he strode from the room.

"Honestly," Bilbo sighed. " _Dwarves_."

***

He ignored all the activity around the mountain the next few days. The Company seemed incapable of keeping things between them, for once they had an idea, the whole mountain seemed to be involved somehow, and during his morning stroll around the halls, he was halted and asked over a dozen times for confirmation of the _when_ during the main celebration day one should give a gift, and what exactly constituted an appropriate gift to give to one's family and friends and acquaintances and business associates and random strangers in the street. The Dwarrows of Erebor, it seemed, were in a mood for presents.

That, coupled with the trees that were just _everywhere_ , and the Dwarrows running about with preparations for what seemed to be enough food to hold feasts for the next month, Bilbo for some reason felt quite... melancholy. 

He wasn't home sick, not exactly. He'd made the decision to stay at the mountain as it was re-established, and he knew that even had he left, he would not have made it back to the Shire in time for the winter celebrations. It wasn't even that he wanted his home, or a more Shire-style of celebration. He missed some of his relations and friends, but not so much as he would miss his silly Dwarrows if he left the mountain, that was for sure. He wasn't very certain at all what was making him feel so down, even as he was happy, he knew that. 

He _was_ happy here. Whoever described Dwarrows as stoic and heartless did not know them at all, Bilbo decided. They had taken to him well enough, and were being more than tolerant where it came to his little celebration. Perhaps the Dwarrows were just itching for a reason to celebrate. And who could blame them? Bilbo did not care a whit if that were their motivation, as these Dwarrows more than deserved a chance to throw themselves into the party mood, as it were. If it made them smile, it made Bilbo smile.

He was happy here. He was. He just felt... odd.

Alright, fine, there might be a reason for that, but Bilbo was nod ready to be facing the reason for his moroseness, thank you very much. He'd much prefer to mope in blissful ignorance.

"Are you pouting about Thorin again?" Kíli asked from behind him, bounding up with his brother, who slung an arm around Bilbo for a side-along hug.

"We're off to market to buy presents!" Fíli announced cheerfully, not waiting for him to answer Kíli's _frightfully inappropriate_ question. "And then down to see Marf the engraver. He's the deftest hand in the mountain, and I have a bracelet I made for Amad that I'd like inscribed."

"Mam should be here, soon!" Kíli exclaimed, bouncing along. "Thorin had a raven arrive this morning. A nice big caravan of all our people, come the long way up and around the top of the Misty Mountains, and back down to us again. Uncle's sending out warriors to guide them in. They should get here in time for our celebration!"

" _Our_ celebration?" Bilbo asked with no small amount of exasperation, though butterflies were fluttering in his poor stomach. Oh, now he needed more gifts! "And your people are travelling at this time of year?"

"Yeah," Fíli said, grinning. "The Blue Mountains are pretty much tapped dry at this point. Erebor was our last hope. Even if Uncle failed, the rest were going on to the Iron Mountains, and a small group might have tried to reclaim the old home lands in the Grey Mountains up north. They all left not long after we did, but wagons of belongings and wee children move so much slower, and like Kíli said, they were going the long way; North a fair way, and down again, to stay as safe as possible from Orc packs and such."

"Besides," Kíli interjected. "Dwarrows are tough. The cold doesn't bother us so much, and any little pack of Orcs would be foolish to attack a whole caravan of heavily armed Dwarrows with young to protect."

"Most of the Orcs and Goblins around here are the dregs left from the battle, anyhow," Fíli said. "None of _them_ will be looking to go near a Dwarrow anytime soon, in their wretched state. Especially when Dain went off hunting the stragglers for sport."

"Good thing he was needed back in his mountain, else he'd have happily cavorted about the mountains on that pig of his," Kíli snickered happily, rocking in place.

"Right," Bilbo agreed faintly, mind whirring. "Well, I'm off. I need to borrow a hand cart."

"What for?" Kíli asked suspiciously, laughter dropping away as he stopping dead in place.

"I'm not going back to the Markets," Bilbo said exasperatedly. "I'm just going out to the woods to collect some green. I should like to decorate my little stove and make a wreath for my door. And Thorin's mantle would look fine, also, with some sprigs of something, a wreath perhaps, and I could borrow some of those beautiful red balls off the tree for the display to tie it all in together nicely..." He trailed off, planning the scene in his mind.

He wanted to decorate his own little room a bit, certainly, but he'd had the niggling sense of wrongness when viewing Thorin's rooms since he had brought in the tree. The room should be so festive with it in, but the rest of the room was bare of decoration- it really could do with some accentuating pieces. He had some wonderful candles, and beautiful solid silver candle holders he had bought from one of the immensely talented Dwarrows in the market place, and maybe a touch of, of... well. It couldn't hurt. Nobody had to know. Did they?

"Wreath?" Fíli asked abruptly, right beside his head, and he jumped, clutching a hand to his chest at the fright.

"Yes, wreaths, very traditional," he gasped, fanning himself. What was wrong with him lately?

"A wreath for Uncle's rooms, eh?" Kíli asked knowingly, and had the gall to wink at him.

"Oh Bilbo," Fíli sighed. "Would you please just kiss him? Put us all out of our misery?"

Bilbo huffed loudly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, and turned on his heel and stalked off to find his cart.

***

He was teetering on a ladder when Thorin found him later that day. Or rather, when Thorin leapt forward to catch him as his rickety step wobbled and slowly started to topple.

"Hello," Bilbo said, arms around Thorin's neck, and more than a little breathless.

"Any particular reason you saw fit to try for a broken neck?" Thorin asked calmly, slowly lowering him to the ground. "And in the middle of my gathering room, for me to find the body later?"

"Well, not later obviously, since you are here now," Bilbo reasoned, brushing down his shirt sleeves of specks of leaf litter. "And I was hanging... well. I was placing a decoration."

Thorin stared at him a moment, before his gaze turned upwards. And stared some more.

"There's a twig hanging from my ceiling."

"It's not a _twig_. Well, it is, but it, it... Eh hem." Bilbo trailed off, blushing heavily. "It's mistletoe," he finished in a rush.

"I... do not know what that is," Thorin admitted, still staring.

"Oh," Bilbo said, suppressing a sigh of relief. He'd hoped that the typical disinterest of Dwarrows in all things green and growing extended to this, but he hadn't been sure.

"Well," he explained brightly. "It's actually a parasitical plant that grows in certain trees in the Shire, and everywhere else, I think, since I found it well enough! It's an odd thing, as while it can cause sickness and withering in the host tree, the benefits incurred by the spread of seed by birds in the form of diversity of species and the increased rate of germination of new crops-"

" _Why_ is it hanging from my ceiling?" Thorin asked, frown edging onto his brow.

"It's pretty?" Bilbo hedged nervously.

Thorin reached for the plant, and Bilbo, oh he was so foolish. Later when he would think back, it was unlikely that Thorin intended to tear the plant down, but Bilbo panicked, and perhaps he _did_ want Thorin to know after all...

"Kissing!" he blurted, watching Thorin's hand rise to the plant, and almost immediately felt his face turn a deep crimson. Thorin froze.

"Kissing?" Thorin choked out, slowly turning incredulous eyes on Bilbo.

"Mistletoe, it's considered a symbol of love and happiness," and oh, look, he was babbling. "The berries, when one encounters another under the branch of the mistletoe, one picks a berry and gifts the person a kiss. When all berries are gone, no more kisses may take place beneath the branch," Bilbo cautioned, eyes darting about as he aimed for a casual tone and instead hit flustered, unable to do much more than blather on and hope for a chance to escape. "It's terribly bad luck to continue on after all the berries are all gone. I'm not quite sure why, a Hobbit superstition, and what are you doing?" he asked shrilly, as Thorin quick as a flash, relieved the branch of a berry.

"I told you, we would do all we could to honour your traditions," Thorin told him gravely, before he swooped in.

Bilbo was certain that if he were to die right at this moment, he would die... well, frustrated that some bugger had interrupted such a moment! But otherwise, quite content. Yes.

Or, you know. Deeply aggrieved that he was dying in the middle of the most amazing experience of his life.

Thorin's lips were softer and warmer than Bilbo had expected, and he had expected a whole lot. The beard was an unusual sensation, but oh, quite delicious, and he had wondered so long at what it would feel like, losing himself in daydreams of such back during the Quest, as early as _Rivendell_ even. The reality was...

There were more vague thoughts in his head about how wonderful Thorin smelt, and the weight and warmth of his hands on Bilbo's waist, and there was a small amount of panicking, if he was really paying attention, but...

Oh, it was easy, it was natural, it was tingling, amazing, earth shattering, Gandalf's-fireworks-exploding-behind-his-eyelids brilliant. Thorin's tongue flicked out ever so briefly to taste his lips, and then again and again, and just as Bilbo felt himself about to swoon and fall, Thorin was withdrawing, and Bilbo heard the breathy little sound of disappointment that came from his own mouth, and blushed anew.

Thorin stared at him a moment, that pretty pink tongue dashing out again to taste his own lips, even as his gaze dropped to Bilbo doing the same, and he blushed, red moving up across his cheeks and blazing his ears brightly in the most adorable way.

"What," he started, and then stopped to clear his throat when his voice rasped uncomfortably. "What do I do with the berry?"

"I'll take it," Bilbo managed numbly. Thorin handed him the berry, and Bilbo was not entirely sure what madness took a hold of him in that moment, but he went to the tips of his toes and yanked another berry from the spray and took a hold of Thorin's beard braid- and oh, how convenient that was, that lovely neat, gold-trimmed hand hold just perfect for _exactly this_ \- and yanked him in for another kiss, this one harder, hotter, wetter. Mmm, more tongue.

Briefer.

Bilbo staggered back, a little shocked at his own brazenness, and cleared his throat a time or two. Thorin was quite still, mouth a little agape, and eyes glazed, and Bilbo nodded decisively.

"You'll notice the Ivy and Holly and Laurel upon your mantle, and the wreaths throughout the room. They too are traditional, though no rules for, for-" He broke off when Thorin smiled at him, warm and tender and his mind flailed to grasp for what he had been saying. 

"May I have the berry?" Thorin asked, voice low and warm.

"The what?" Bilbo asked, more than a little dazed.

"The berry you picked," Thorin said, gesturing to his hand with another little smile.

Bilbo opened his palm and Thorin plucked the berry up, smile only widening.

"Don't eat it," Bilbo said, eyes locked onto that smile. Oh, how beautiful it was! "They're poisonous."

"Of course they are," Thorin chuckled, hand brushing Bilbo's fondly before he wandered from the room. 

Bilbo hummed to himself and looked about Thorin's gathering area, absently ensuring that all his decorating was done, and noted the little bit of mess he had to tidy. Best to take care of that quick, then. He rather thought he deserved a nice warm bath and a bit of a wank after that.

***

When Bilbo went to wander to the kitchen the next morning to partake in a little more baking, there was Mistletoe hanging almost every few feet in every corridor and tunnel that Bilbo could see.

Half of them already looked well picked.

The Dwarrows, too, were enthusiastically embracing _this_ new tradition as well, by the sights that Bilbo was seeing in his innocent walk. 

It was entirely possible that he was scarred for life.

It was sweet, though, and Bilbo's escort had appeared out of nowhere- as they were wont to do- to trail after him to his destination, but a dip in the hall, and having to wait for a cart to rumble by, meant that he stopped and was joined by the two guardsmen thereafter. One had gasped and blushed, but quickly reached for a berry and kissed Bilbo clumsily on the forehead, before gifting him the berry, and they had all moved on, the second guard chuckling in delight. 

If these Dwarrow did not stop being so adorably sweet, Bilbo was never going to leave this mountain.

Balin was waiting for him in the kitchens, sitting by the bench square that seemed to have unofficially been claimed as Bilbo's, grinning widely from a stool as Bilbo wandered into the kitchen.

"So lovely to see you, Balin," Bilbo smiled, padding up to his friend. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"You can keep being yourself, you wonderful little Hobbit," Balin beamed, standing to tug him into a great bear hug, swaying Bilbo happily.

"Alrig- what?" 

"Such a wonderful little Hobbit," Balin sniffed, drawing back and smiling proudly, misty eyed. 

"What?" 

"I'm sure you'll be wanting your breakfast, so I will leave you to it," Balin said, patting Bilbo on the head gently. He sniffled, looking over Bilbo once more, before reaching into his over-robe and fishing out two decorations, popping them onto Bilbo's bench and leaving him with one last pat to his curls.

Bilbo stared after him, more than a little baffled, before turning back to his latest little offerings.

They were metal of some sort, and _beautifully_ enamelled. A jolly looking Dwarrow, something like a cross between Bombur and Balin, round-bellied and white haired, laughing in red robes and a dapper cap, his boot tips and robe accents gilt in gold and shining brightly. The other was clearly a hobbit, with sparkling green eyes and the typical pointed ears poking whimsically from bouncing curls, in green trousers and weskit, and his own cap with beautiful tiny silver bells. A festive Dwarrow and Hobbit for his tree. 

Bilbo sniffled a little, hugging the little figures to himself a moment, immensely touched by the symbolism of the gift. Dwarrows and Hobbits celebrating together.

Even if the gits had not even bothered to ask him _what_ exactly they were celebrating yet.

The new figures went carefully into his pocket for later, and he trotted off to retrieve a fresh loaf to munch with some jam, and some cheese, already planning his baking carefully.

His stupid adorable Dwarrows perhaps deserved something extra special for their tea that afternoon.

***

At some point, Bilbo was not sure when, a sprig of Mistletoe, positively _bursting_ with berries, had appeared above his little work area in the kitchen. 

Suspiciously appeared.

While crafting his little tea cakes -in three different flavours and glazed in a cooked sugar icing- a few of the different kitchen workers and visitors to the heated hall had come to collect some kisses, most going for modest pecks on his forehead and affectionate bristling busses on his cheek, only one Dwarrow brazen enough to bend him back and lay a great smacking smooch on his lips, much to the raucous approval of the rest of the kitchen's residents.

The few others, well. Thorin had visited the kitchen on three separate occasions between elevenses and lunch. On each occasion, he'd left Bilbo flushed and breathless and dizzy with happiness, with the catcalls of the Dwarrows around them echoing after him.

Bofur came to see him after lunch, darting forward to catch Bilbo up and spin him in a quick circling jig, ending with a twirl and bending Bilbo back, swooping in for what Bilbo expected to be quite the enthusiastic snog- only for Bofur to halt at the last moment and instead gift him one affectionate, and very gentle kiss on his lips, and standing him up again.

" _Lovin'_ this tradition of yours," he said cheekily, adjusting his hat with a jaunty flick and a happy grin.

"I would bet that you are," Bilbo agreed, still giggling, fanning his face. "But you didn't take a berry."

"Didn't I?" Bofur asked, expression twisting into an exaggerated show of regret. "Oh deary me, let me just pick yon berry and we'll have another go of it, aye?"

"Oh, stop." Bilbo flapped a hand at him, instead moving some of his freshly made egg sandwiches to a plate and plonking them in front of the chuckling Dwarrow.

"Thorin's in quite the mood," Bofur said innocently, taking a large bite of his lunch. "I'm surprised the lads haven't been in here to bug you."

"Oh, what have they done now?" Bilbo cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Thorin was in a lovely mood when he was here an hour ago to, to, well. In any case, if they've gone and mucked that up, I shall be taking my wooden spoon to them, let me tell you."

"Oh, they didn't do anything," Bofur said around a mouthful of sandwich, and went silent while he dug into the second on his plate, while Bilbo stared at him impatiently.

Bofur grinned when he was done, handing the plate back and looking oh so innocent.

"Lovely bite that was," he said, smile mischievous. "Thankyou kindly for sharing."

"Bofur," Bilbo said with great impatience, when the Miner said nothing else, merely reaching to snag one of Bilbo's red apples from the bowl on his counter. "What is wrong with Thorin?"

"I never said anything was _wrong_ with Thorin," Bofur said, tossing his apple in the air a few times. "In fact, he's in an amazingly good mood. I thought the lads would be down here thanking you for it."

"And why would they be thanking _me?_ " He firmly ignored the flush crawling up his cheeks at Bofur's knowing grin.

As for his friend, Bofur could not leave well enough alone, and reached up to snag a berry from the mistletoe, kissing Bilbo's cheek and passing him the berry, and made for the door.

"Why do you think?" Bofur called, and was gone.

There was really no need to read much into that. For all Bilbo knew, Thorin was in a great mood because he was able to go around kissing _everyone_ , not just Bilbo.

It would be nice. If it was Bilbo. And the kissing. But how was he to know if it was or not?

***

So, Bilbo might have been hiding.

Again.

This time, he'd taken the safer route and _not_ told Ori where to find him. Not that Bilbo was in trouble this time. He just wanted to be alone.

Alright, so he _didn't_ want to be alone. He was just...

Uncertain.

Once the idea was in his head, Bilbo could not stop thinking about Thorin roaming about the Mountain, kissing all sorts of Dwarrows under the Mistletoe, all of them receiving the same toe-curling wonderfulness that Bilbo had managed to receive a good half dozen times. And once he had started thinking about it, and aching deep inside at the thought, he'd contemplated the awful idea of _witnessing_ it, and what sort of horribleness that would be. Truth be told, as much as Bilbo had been through on his great mad adventure with his Dwarrows, he was not brave enough to be confronted with the sight of Thorin kissing another. 

He just _couldn't_.

Stupid traditions.

So, here he was, tucked away in his little storage cupboard of a room, with his little pot-belly stove (that Thorin had requested an engineer come to affix when it was clear that Bilbo refused to take one of the larger suites) for warmth and tea, wrapping all the larger presents he had picked in lovely swaths of brightly coloured embroidered silk he had bought from the easterners, and stuffing small sacks full of littler gifts for all his family and staunchly refusing to leave his room, pretending very hard that he wasn't hiding.

He was definitely hiding.

His presents were all completed and wrapped, and hidden safely away under his bed again, and Bilbo was back to melancholically staring into the open square door of his little stove, ignoring the fact that he could be in Thorin's lovely receiving room, surrounded by his friends-come-family, and warming himself by a nice large fire while admiring his beautiful tree. Instead of feeling lonely and a little cold and with a numb bum from sitting on the cold hard floor for a few hours.

A banging at his door made him jump and almost spill the dregs of his lukewarm tea, and he glared at the barrier between himself and the one who had startled him.

The banging came again when he didn't rise to open it, and then there was silence, and Bilbo huffed, turning back to his fire. Best to let everybody think he was not at home, so they would leave him alone to mope.

"Halfling, if you don't open this door, I'm choppin' it down, frame and all, with my axes!" Dwalin bellowed through the keyhole.

"Don't you dare!" Bilbo yelled in panic, and then cursed himself when he heard who was certainly Glóin give a loud "Ah _HA!_ ". 

"Bugger," he whispered to himself, dithering on what was the outcome most beneficial to himself; answer the door and be bothered by Dwarrows, or wait and possibly be ducking for cover from wildly flying splinters.

They may just leave again. It was possible

Or, they might have Nori with them ready to have his latch unhooked in about three seconds to stroll in looking smug.

Dammit.

Bilbo glared as Glóin and Dwalin and Óin all followed him in, cramming into his tiny room.

"Right," Óin said, dropping a great hulking satchel on to the bed, hauling him up to sit next to it. "Let's have a look at you then."

"Whatever fo- I'm not sick!" he cried, when Óin undid the straps of his bag and started withdrawing pots and potions of all kinds. 

"I'll be the judge of that," Óin said ominously, cracking his knuckles and reaching to start an examination.

"I am perfectly well," Bilbo insisted as Óin turned his head this way and that, and Dwalin snorted loudly.

"You've missed a lot of the meals a Hobbit needs," Glóin said with great disapproval, tutting at him. "Barely seen you for days!"

"Thorin's in a state over it," Dwalin said, frowning deeply at Bilbo. "What with the preparations for the arrival of the rest of our kin -what looks to be _tomorrow_ \- and your great celebration in a week, he's stomping and stressing and worryin' that you've not left your room in days."

"I have so left," Bilbo protested, and received a whole bunch of glares for his troubles.

" _Hiding_ " Nori coughed into his fist, and Bilbo huffed.

"I am not," he protested weakly, and Óin gave him the most disappointed of looks.

"You need a hot meal and some company," Óin diagnosed, yanking him from the bed and tossing him to Nori, and Bilbo squawked when Nori took the opportunity to pull a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and-

"Its purpose is _kissing_ , not _fondling_ , you wretch of a being!" he protested loudly, and Nori laughed, dragging him out his room and down the corridor after Dwalin and Glóin, Óin trailing behind and muttering to himself.

Bilbo only had another moment to gulp in anticipation before he was yanked into Thorin's receiving room and dragged through to the dining area, the rest of the Company hollering loudly in greeting.

They _must_ have been worried. A table laden with grand fare and not a bite had so far; the silly gits had actually waited for him to come to the table, for once, and now all groaning that they could finally eat.

Thorin was at the head of the table. Smiling, but subdued, eyes relieved and something Bilbo couldn't quite identify before he was buried under a Dwarven snuffle pile and shoved into a seat.

Through lovely roasted meats and a rather odd but incredibly tasty traditional Dwarven Fish dish, with breads and cheese and pudding and jam tarts (Dwarves ate rather heavy meals when they could- though these days there tended to be at least one plate of vegetables for Bilbo to add to his plate) Thorin was quiet. He ate, though slowly and with head down, and contributed little, even after Bofur produced a nice barrel of mead and set the lot of them to toasting and singing. He was there, he smiled, he nodded along to tales and bobbed to songs, but Thorin was... well. He was almost the Thorin that Bilbo had known back at the beginning of their quest. Solemn and apart and weighed down by a whole world of troubles.

Well. They could not have that. No matter how much Bilbo wanted to sulk.

When next Dwalin shouted something down to Thorin, Dwalin being seated quite conveniently next to Bilbo at the table, Bilbo made sure to catch Thorin's eye and give him the warmest smile he could manage, hoping just a little it might bring a brighter smile to Thorin's dear face. 

For a moment, Thorin looked confused, and oh, Bilbo had right royally mussed things up if Thorin was surprised to see Bilbo smiling at him. His eyes fell to the table for a moment, before darting back up to Bilbo's, and he smiled back tentatively, face relaxing when Bilbo beamed happily. 

Thorin turned back to murmur with Dori and Balin for a while, Dwalin patting Bilbo on the back with a satisfied smirk, and not long after, Bilbo was a little disappointed to see Thorin stand to excuse himself. Before he left, though, he slunk down the table to Bilbo, hovering nearby as Bilbo stumbled to stand, and they moved away from the horde of smirking unsubtle Dwarrows suddenly pointedly 'not' listening in.

"How are you?" Thorin asked carefully, and, oh, that face. Bilbo needed that face to smile, happy and carefree again.

"I am quite well," he insisted brightly, "very busy with preparations lately. But yes, very happy, thank you for asking."

"Oh," Thorin said, pleased and surprised and moving in to Bilbo's space a little more. "I- I had thought..."

"You had thought?" Bilbo asked, leaning into Thorin a little. By the Valar, he had missed this dwarf this so very much, locking himself up these last few days. He was such a fool of a Hobbit!

"I... Well. I know we are a poor substitute for your people, despite our efforts; I know that you must be disappointed to be missing the celebrations of your homelands locked away in the mountain as you are."

"What?" Bilbo asked, leaning back in surprise. "I mean, no! You, all of you have been wonderful, every last Dwarrow in this mountain has been amazing, and I most certainly have not been locked up anywhere. I like living in Erebor, Thorin. I really do, I love it here."

"But," Thorin said, expression warring between pleased blushing, and a doubtful scowl. "The mountain is no place for a Hobbit to flourish."

"Hogwash!" Bilbo said hotly. "Who has said? I am perfectly content. I am _happy_ here, thank you very much, enough that I would stay here always if it were permitted!"

"Truly?" Bombur asked behind him, and when had that giant fellow managed to sneak up on him so? "You'd stay here with us, and live here for good?"

"Well, yes," Bilbo frowned, somewhat perplexed. He thought they were aware of this. "I know that Dwarrows do not open their homes for outsiders, though, so I thought perhaps I could one day come back to Dale and-"

"No," Thorin cut him off, grinning broadly, now, and thank goodness, there was that smile. "We _rarely_ allow outsiders to live within our walls. Not never. This is my mountain, won for me by Bilbo Braveheart, and he is most welcome to live within our walls. Foolish Hobbit," he finished with a carefree laugh. 

Of course, that set their gaggle of eavesdroppers to cheering and toasting, and after Bilbo and Thorin both were bombarded with the hug fest that seemed to have startled, they managed to drift unnoticed into the hall by themselves.

"I wanted to ask you," Thorin said, smiling bashfully, head ducking low for a moment. "It is likely that the caravan of my people will arrive on the morrow, and things will most likely become quite hectic for a time, organising living arrangements and work assignments and guild placements, and, well. I had wanted to gather those family of the Company together before all that starts, though, here, to reunite. And I was hoping that you would come, to meet them, I mean."

"I'd be ever so honoured," Bilbo managed around a sudden lump around his throat, breathing sharply through his nose to ease it. "I have so wanted to meet the few people you have all spoken briefly of. Which, in fact, I am not sure who it is that I will be meeting! Fíli and Kíli's mother, and I believe that Glóin and Bombur both have wives? And of course, Glóin speaks often of his son."

Thorin nodded ruefully, resting his weight against the wall beside him for a moment.

"A Dwarrow superstition. If one is to speak of those he loves with longing from separation too often, it is as if prophesy, and they may find themselves separated for good, through death or loss. And most say that if one locks the memory of all that they love within their heart and hoard it jealously, that none can take it away. So we talk very little of our loved ones when distance keeps us from them."

Bilbo stared at him a moment. Of course Dwarrows would hoard their family as they would gold and gems, to the point of guarding away the very memory and existence of them. It did make a lot of sense, considering the insanity that was a Dwarrow.

"You will meet them all tomorrow," Thorin reassured him, straightening from his slouch against the wall and taking Bilbo's hands in his own. "Do not worry. They will adore you as we do."

Bilbo hummed, not capable of much more with how breathless and tight in the chest with these silly emotions of his, and so he squeezed Thorin's great paws with his own and smiled up at Thorin, a small part of him shouting at himself to stop mooning and behave with some dignity. Thorin smiled easily in return, so fond and free, and opened his mouth to speak, before his gaze darted over Bilbo's shoulder and he sighed instead, gently dropping Bilbo's hands after one last squeeze.

"Duty calls," he said, instead, running one hand down Bilbo's arm and making his way along the hall to the waiting courtier. 

"Will you please, for the love of all Mahal, _please_ tell him you love him?" Dori asked, leaning around the doorway and scowling, though he was more than a little misty-eyed as well.

Bilbo spluttered, and Dori rolled his eyes, pulling back around the door with a huff.

***

Dwarves really did not talk of their families much. Bilbo was somewhat annoyed. There were many, many, _many_ Dwarrows they had failed to mention before. 

As far as Bilbo could tell so far, Dori, Nori and Ori were greeting their two sisters (Moli and Holi, that had made Bilbo work terribly hard to suppress his snickers at; what a line-up) and the husband of one (Hruk, was his name, though to what sister he wasn't quite sure), plus a few wee young ones (whose names he had forgotten almost immediately), as well as their own mother (Foli, and Bilbo had definitely not smirked. Nope). Bifur's father was there (Rifur, nice and easy to remember), and Bombur and Bofur's mother (Drakhn, which had a pronunciation Bilbo was not even going to bother attempting any time soon. She had been very amused by the first attempt), and Bombur's wife (Yfal, very sweet and little- almost smaller than Bilbo!) and six, _six_ children, the genders that Bilbo had not been able to discern just yet (nor their names). 

Balin and Dwalin had two cousins through their mother (Galf and Holf), that they were very enthusiastically greeting with headbutts and chatter, and Dwalin apparently had a sweetheart (whose name appeared to be Bo?) that he had been courting with the intent of marrying! Glóin's famous wife (Farn) and son (Gimli) were present, as well as Óin's husband (Benrin), and they were all doing the rounds with hugging _everyone_ and making a muddle of things, so Bilbo had to admit, he was feeling quite overwhelmed.

Fíli and Kíli had, in fact, very enthusiastically greeted their mother, but now they were with her and Thorin both, and with some Dwarrows that Bilbo was quite certain were female, and utterly perplexed with who they might be.

Especially as one seemed to be permanently attached to Thorin's side. And he did not seem to mind.

And she was quite pretty.

He was a Hobbit. Parties amongst Hobbits were no small affairs, and he was used to being around many many people at once. The difference, he thought, was that as a Hobbit, one knew everyone else, practically, that lived in and around their home. Here, he knew very little, it seemed, and these Dwarrows deserved to be greeting their kin and basking in their presence again, not groping for small talk appropriate for a Hobbit that they did not know. Bilbo was just sidling subtly for the door, intent on excusing himself discreetly and allowing the Company their peace, when Fíli yelled his name from across the room.

"So, this is the Hobbit?" Thorin's sister -Dís, Bilbo was sure she was called- said archly when he was dragged over for inspection, eyeing him up and down as she circled him, and the Company roared their amusement at her choice of words, all of them seeming to be determined to tell their kin about Thorin's first meeting with Bilbo.

" _I_ shan't call him a grocer," the pretty one that had been attached to Thorin's hip suddenly said above the clamour, and clasped Bilbo to her. "He's far too adorable to insult so."

"Yani, leave him alone," Thorin said, exasperated but smiling fondly.

"But he's so _cute_ ," the Dwarrow -Yani- said, leering and cuddling Bilbo close.

"Better you than me," Kíli said sympathetically, before cackling wildly.

"What...?" Bilbo managed, eyes a little wild.

"Get off him, Yani," one of the other female Dwarrows said, and Yani pouted, but returned to a chuckling Thorin's side.

"I suppose introductions are in order?" Dís said, smiling at him in a way that reminded Bilbo very much of Fíli.

"I should say so," Bilbo said, and Dís laughed. "You... _are_ Dís, are you not?" he asked.

"I am," she said, crossing to draw him into a warm hug.

"I don't know if you remember me speak of it, Bilbo, but Dís and I once had a brother named Frerin," Thorin said, and though he was still smiling, there was an edge of not entirely dulled grief there, and Bilbo could not help following the impulse to step out of Dís' hug and forward into Thorin's space, to reach out, slide his hand into Thorin's, even as he nodded his answer. Thorin smiled down at him, warm and grateful.

"My brother had the opportunity to find and marry his One early in life. He was never one to follow tradition, so- well. That is neither here nor there, now, and I am grateful, as even if I cannot make him known to you, I may introduce you to his wife, Yuna. And my neice, Yani."

"You know how you're always calling Fíli and I terrors?" Kíli said evilly. "Yani is way worse than us."

"Hey!" the girl objected.

"It's true!" Fíli said. "Since you'll be staying on here at Erebor, soon you'll be cursing her existence just like the rest of us, Bilbo."

"When have you ever heard me curse about anybody?" Bilbo said, flushing when Yani had exclaimed "he's staying with us?" quite excitedly.

"That time at Beorn's house, when Uncle-"

"We are not bringing that up in front of your poor mother," Bilbo interrupted Fíli, blushing all the more at the chuckles from some of the Company.

"I don't remember that?" Thorin said, free hand tugging at his beard braid, and Bilbo cleared his throat and slanted his gaze away from the sight; he was fairly certain that should not be so... stimulating.

"Do you remember that hellish ale that Beorn brought out the second night we stayed with him?" Bilbo asked him, and Thorin's head tilted to the side, frown deepening.

"No," he said, baffled.

"Exactly," Bilbo said wryly, shaking his head when Balin cackled expansively at the comment and Thorin shrugged with a grin.

"And last, but certainly, most definitely not least, is Baljak, my lovely soon-to-be-wife," Fíli said, presenting the last Dwarrow with the sweet dimples next to him with a flourish.

"Oh, you... really?" Bilbo asked. "What have you said to the poor girl to convince her of that?"

"OI!" Fíli yelled, and the Company was laughing, and so were their families, and Dís thumped him on the back as she chortled, and Bilbo sighed.

Oh yes; he seemed to have acquired a whole new flock of Dwarrows to adore. 

Bilbo was fine with that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rushing to push this part up before I dash off to finish my Christmas shopping, sweet people. 
> 
> Don't forget to applaud Beta-Beth for being super kick-arse! 
> 
> And Heyerette, sweet love, I hope this is helping your post BoFA heart. (Me, I'm not seeing that any time soon. AND NOT JUST BECAUSE IT ISN'T EVEN OUT HERE.)

The Markets were one of the most fascinating and wonderful places in the whole of Middle Earth, Bilbo would tell anyone.

Currently, as Dale was not yet established, still working away to restore what they could of the remnants of the old city, Thorin and Erebor were hosting the Trade Markets that had once been primarily held by the town of Men. They sat just outside the great gates at the foot of the mountain, and while they had started with a few miserable little tents run by the enthusiastic not long after the battle, they had since greatly expanded, and once the Dwarrows had started in on their crafts again (about ten minutes after the last Orc skull had been crushed beneath Dwarvish boot, Bilbo had thought privately), they had been quick to get in and assist in making the place 'habitable', as they put it. The Market was now all but built in to the side of the mountain, with thick stone walls, and a mishmash of materials for the roof, all patchworked and reinforced and with lanterns stuck wherever there was place, and had expanded several times outwards at the back to accommodate the traders some place out of the weather, as they were, after all, travelling to trade in winter.

In the Shire, Bilbo had been a regular visitor to the markets in Hobbiton, and he had loved going for a gentle meander, taking a turn around to see what was on offer and chat with acquaintances, but in the markets of Erebor, it felt like Bilbo had not enough eyes to see, or time to explore. There was so much, so many things he had never seen before, always new things every time he visited, so many people from all over, now, and so much of his curiosity to sate. It was wonderful, a collection of curios from so many rich cultures gathered together in one place.

And with a whole lot of gold stashed about his person, and an escort that was at least good for carrying things, if nothing else, as well as the prospect of so many new people to find gifts for, Bilbo was having a time of it, humming to himself as he navigated his way around all the Big Folk of the trade hub.

He'd dumped a half dozen parcels on his escort and was headed to a stall full of beautiful glass bottles of scent, when an arm slung around his shoulders, and Bofur peered into his face with a grin.

"What's a handsome lad like youself doin' in a place like this, eh?"

"I have my escort, don't fuss," Bilbo insisted, smiling when Bombur appeared the other side and linked arms with Bilbo.

"Was I fussin'?" Bofur said defensively. "Not me. I'm just enquiring as to what could lure such a lovely fellow as yourself out on such a day."

It was snowing again. For some reason, the standard response to the snow, amongst Dwarrows, seemed to be one of complete betrayal and stunned scowling at the sky, and Bilbo was at times torn between extreme exasperation and helpless amusement every time he heard another bewildered accusatory 'It's _snowing_ '. Personally, Bilbo thought it was lovely, even as overcast as it was; there was something so soft about the sight of snow falling, so beguiling. He adored sitting at the end of one of the balconies around the mountain, wrapped in a cloak and enjoying the sight, no matter how many Dwarrows would come to fuss, and stare at the snow in consternation.

Getting to and from the markets, in this weather, meant walking quickly along the little covered path running against the side of the great wall outside Erebor's gates, and into the covered square for the Markets. While the Dwarrows grumbled and glared at the snow and the thought of getting their poor boots wet, or whatever it was that upset them so much about the little walk here, Bilbo quite enjoyed it, and when it became so very cold underfoot that even a Hobbit would feel the chill, he had the lovely soft suede halfboots lined with lambswool that Thorin had commissioned for him to endure the colder months, far colder here than in Bilbo's gentle west. 

"I am not one to be put off by a bit of cold weather," he said loftily, tugging them both to the scent stand, and shrugging Bofur off to carefully pick up a lovely dark brown glass bottle, with an odd curved neck, and a beautiful silver stopper, encrusted with tiny tawny twinkling stones. He worked the stopper out and sniffed, offering it to Bombur to smell. 

"Would Glóin's wife like this, do you think?" he asked. To Bilbo it smelt lovely, but Dwarrows were funny things.

"Don't know about Farn, but my Yfal would love it- though, do you have it in a pink bottle, at all?" Bombur asked the stall holder.

"Are you buying all the newcomers gifts?" Bofur asked, giving him a rather amused smile while Bombur started fussing over the bottles, wanting a smaller bottle with a lighter scent for his oldest daughter -Bel, Biblo must remember that- as well as the chosen pink for his wife. "And don't get the brown for Farn, better for Bo, or me ma."

"Oh, goodness, I need something special for your mother," Bilbo moaned. "To improve upon the appalling impression I made our first meeting when I mangled her name so horribly."

"I wouldn't worry," Bombur said, smiling over his shoulder while the vender wrapped his purchases. "Ma is used to it from Men she's traded with. She likes you, otherwise she would have given you that cold stare of hers that makes grown fellows of all races wet themselves."

"Too right, Bom," Bofur laughed, tugging them on to the next stall. "She'll let you suffer for a bit and then invite you to call her missus D, or Amad if she really likes you. Which, knowing you, Bilbo, she probably will. Welcome to the family, brother."

"Very funny," Bilbo said, though he felt a pleased blush edge its way up his face when Bombur nodded along seriously. These silly Dwarrows. How they could make his heart burst. "I am shopping for the last of my gift recipients, to answer your earlier question. What are you two doing here?"

"Bifur wanted some time with his da, Yfal is cleaning Bom's place from top to bottom and makin' the little ones unpack, and ma is having a nap, so we thought we'd come for a few more gifts ourselves."

"I thought you had already bought out half the market for your children, Bombur," Bilbo asked curiously, tugging them to a clothier- his own mother always appreciated a fine bolt of cloth, perhaps Foli would as well? Ori did say that their mother had taught him to knit, and Dori to embroider, so perhaps.

"He did," Bofur said, while Bombur pretended not to hear the question. "But now we have pockets overflowing, it's nice to bombard the loved ones in frivolities, isn't it?"

"It is," Bilbo agreed, pointing to a lovely blue -Durin blue- fabric, thick and lush and pricey, and another in the prettiest pink he had ever seen, plus a light cotton, fine enough to be almost see through that could make a beautiful wedding veil, should Fíli's Baljak approve of it, and handed over a generous handful of gold for the cloth whole on the bolts. Bilbo did not bother haggling when he came to buy, much to the disgust of his Dwarrows. Bilbo didn't see the point in worrying over it; he had more gold to spend than he could possibly bother with, and they were trying to encourage a rich trade-market, weren't they? Being free with the gold would only help.

"I have to say," Bofur mused as he handed off the latest purchases to the poor Dwarrow elected by his fellows to pull Bilbo's little hand cart. "This tradition of yours has really got this Market happening, hasn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Bilbo asked, handing over a few different spools of ribbons to be cut. Little girls liked ribbons for their hair, didn't they? For that matter, did little Dwarven boys, being that they themselves had lots of hair to tie back, and the Dwarrow fascination with decorating their locks? He handed over a few more spools and ordered his lengths. They would be excellent additional small gifts for all the assorted lasses and lads he had gained as family.

"Well, everybody is running down here to buy all sorts of exotic gifts for their loved ones, and the Dwarrows are doing a roaring trade now we can craft with the best again," Bombur said. "And the Men apparently have a similar celebration to yours, they call it Yule, or something, so they're in here picking up little bits as well, now they've heard about your own."

Bilbo hummed, moving over to a stand of wooden toys. Bifur's were better, though the little boat was beautiful...

"We call it by the old name, Erujól. It means Eru's feast. Probably the same thing, as regional pronunciations make jól into yól with some of the Men, we have found. And I hardly think that it is just my celebration making the Markets so successful. I would more attribute the rather large pile of gold in yon mountain as the source."

Bofur said nothing in return, but Bilbo caught Bombur giving his brother a look that he couldn't quite discern over his shoulder, but he ignored it and passed on to another vendor, leaving them at a jeweller specialising in rings, Bilbo engaging a Man and his books in a lively discussion for a while, leaving with a story full of Men's fairy tales for Dori's niece and nephews, and a gorgeous bound collection of prints of interesting buildings from different cities that Bombur himself may enjoy, being the engineer of the family. He was sure to make sure his parcels were wrapped well and out of sight before Bombur and Bofur re-joined him.

Thankfully, after a little while of silent solemnity, they brothers seemed to perk right up again and chatted with him happily for the rest of the morning, and Bilbo's cart grew quite full, and his purses quite empty, by the time the three of them made their way back up the mountain and Bilbo dispatched his little band of guards. It was only when Bombur and Bofur had finished helping him put his new bits in his room to go through, and sat down to a hastily assembled lunch that Bofur gave him a considering look.

"You really don't see the difference you've made, just being here with us, do you?"

Bilbo stopped with a mouthful of cold meat pie, staring at his friend who was sipping from a tankard.

"I'm glad you decided to stay," Bombur said, chewing on his own pie. "I think we need you, now. You've made it happier here, from the start. I cannot imagine what would happen if you left."

"I have no idea what you are saying," Bilbo said, having managed to swallow his pie.

"Can you imagine how Thorin would have been after the battle had you not stayed?" Bofur asked idly, licking at his fork. "And now? The whole mountain would collapse, swear to the All-Father."

Bilbo blinked, fork stuck halfway to his mouth while Bofur and Bombur went back to their lunches as if they had said nothing to bother him at all.

Really? They thought Bilbo had that much influence on Thorin's mood and state of being that the mountain would collapse around their ears should Bilbo pack up and leave for the Shire?

He poked at his lunch, sulkily annoyed that once again, his attention had been brought back to an issue that he had been very skilfully avoiding. And blithely continuing with their meal while Bilbo had quite lost his appetite, now.

Still, no use wasting good pie.

***

Sometimes a Hobbit just had to sit and mull over an issue for a while. 

That was the theory, that is, but so far, sitting shivering on the little bench on a high up balcony out of the way, where nobody could come and bother him while thinking over important matters, Bilbo had managed to exercise one of his most trusted skills.

Not thinking about that thing that is bothering him.

Instead, he was trying to ignore the fact that his bottom was quite numb, his toes were quite chilled despite popping on his lovely half-boots, and he could not feel his nose. Nevertheless, he had decided that he was going to sit and make some decisions, and he was not leaving the bench until he had made those decisions!

The moment he had sat his Hobbitly bottom down on the stone bench, however, was the moment he had started to avoid thinking about what he was supposed to be thinking about. Thus, he was somewhat stuck.

He was grumbling quietly to himself when Bifur appeared, plonking himself on the bench and a babe in his lap -Bombur's youngest, a lad, Bilbo was sure- and immediately slinging an arm around Bilbo, drawing him tight into his side and throwing a large fur over the lot of them.

"Oh, hello Bifur, and um..."

"Bof," Bifur said, bopping the tyke gently on the nose.

"Hello young Bof," Bilbo sighed, as he and the child both snuggled gratefully into Bifur's warmth. Dwarrows -at least the adult variety- did not seem to feel the cold at all, which made Bilbo even more perplexed as to their continued irritation with snow. They didn't seem to feel the heat, either; they were big muscly heat pillows whatever the weather, and seemed to be comfortable regardless. It was irritating at times, except for when Bilbo very much needed warming up.

Like now.

Bifur fired off a question after a while, or rather, it sounded very much like a question, and while Bilbo wasn't entirely sure on the wording, he got the gist. He sighed, and rubbed his cheek in Bof's soft curls for a moment.

"Everybody keeps making these comments," he began, before hesitating. The little one offered him a little pink stone shot through with golden stripes that he had clenched in his gloved fist, and Bilbo smiled at him and took it, chuckling when the tiny fellow gave him an indulgent pat and leant back against him to rest.

"Every time I turn around, one of the Company is making a comment about Thorin to me," he said all in a rush. "And I don't... I just do not know what is going on between us, what everybody else sees. I know that all of you are well aware of the depth of my feelings for the great lummox, but..." he huffed and rolled his eyes, hugging Bof to his chest tight. "Is there a chance for me, or am I seeing and hearing what I want to hear? Nothing is clear, nobody is being _clear_."

Bifur made a rumbling sympathetic noise in his chest, squeezing him in comfort.

"I don't know what to do. I'm terrified of saying anything, because really, what am I but a simple little Hobbit, fussy and let us face it, completely useless in Dwarrow terms. What do I have to offer _Thorin_ , a great noble king of the Dwarrows, a direct descendant of the greatest of the original Mountain-kind. Thorin, who led a small contingency of his kin to slay a dragon and reclaim an empire, who raced to confront an army of Orcs and Goblins with only twelve Dwarrows at his back. Who brokered peace agreements with Men and Elves, despite eons of enmity, who is working tirelessly to rebuild a kingdom and succeeding admirably, who has the complete adoration and unquestioning loyalty of every single one of his subjects. What is a fussy little Hobbit in that picture?"

Bifur tutted at him, and started to speak, fast and furious, and while there was absolutely no way Bilbo could know what he was saying, he was sure he was recieving a lecture of epic proportions.

Bifur finished with several rolling heavy syllables and an expansive wave, with a decisive stab of a finger in Bilbo's chest and a nod of something.

Bof giggled.

"I'm not sure what you just said, dear Dwarf, but thank you," Bilbo said, smiling wryly. It was the thought that counted, yes? 

"Bilbo," Bifur said firmly, and gestured back towards the mountain. "Thorin... Bilbo, âzyungel."

"I don't know what that means, either."

Bifur huffed, and Bof giggled again, twisting in Bilbo's arms to brush a clumsy kiss over Bilbo's cheek.

"It means, love of all loves," a voice came from the nearby archway, and Thorin's sister Dís stepped through.

Bifur spat out a quick sentence, all thick grunts and hard consonants, and Dís laughed, loud and clear, nodding in return. Bifur twisted back to Bof, and murmured something to the lad, and Bof gifted Bilbo one last whiskery kiss and relieved him of his pebble, and let himself be lifted away by his Uncle, waving as Bifur carried him away and back into the Mountain proper.

Dís took Bifur's place without a pause, arranging the fur over herself and tucking it more securely around Bilbo, taking his hands to rub them between her own larger and warmer palms.

"We haven't had much of a chance to speak together since I arrived," she said idly, when she was done with her fussing. "I feel as if I already know you quite well, though. My brother and my sons and my cousins all speak of you often and without much prompting. Even before I arrived, my letters were dotted with 'Bilbo said', and 'Bilbo did this'."

"Oh?" Bilbo said after a minute, when Dís did not go on.

She smiled, though, and turned her face back to watching the gentle fall of snow, started again while Bilbo had been speaking to Bifur.

"I-!" Bilbo started, stopping almost immediately when he realised he really had no idea what he was going to say.

Dís produced a pipe from somewhere, taking her time packing it and lighting it, humming in satisfaction with the first few puffs.

"You have to know," she said after a while, blowing her smoke out in careful streams through her nose, "that my brother respects you a great deal."

Bilbo humphed loudly. 

"Kíli said the same thing to me, very recently," he said crossly, reaching to snatch Dís' pipe from her and take a great puff, scowling at the harsh acrid taste of what Dwarrows called decent pipeweed. Dís grinned in a way that said she had been waiting for him to do exactly that, and took it back with a snicker when he passed it.

"I still don't know what that means," Bilbo admitted quietly, slumping into the arm Dís curled around him.

"It means, that you should stop worrying about what everybody else thinks about it, and face the main issue."

"Which is?" Bilbo asked tiredly.

"You are in love with my brother," Dís said, passing the pipe back along.

"I am," he admitted, taking the pipe against his better judgement, and subjecting his poor lungs to the unrefined junk again.

Dís hummed, and took the pipe back, and they sat silent for a while, passing the pipe back and forth till it eventually ran cold.

"Tell him," she finally said, tapping out the bowl and wiping down the bit with a cloth, stashing her pipe away again.

"I can't," Bilbo admitted, trying very hard not to hide his face. "I'm too... cowardly."

"Nonsense."

"I can not, I _can't_ -"

"Do you think this has been _easy_ for my brother, Hobbit?" Dís demanded, gesturing sharply to the mountain and beyond. "With every one of his deeds has come great loss; do you seriously think that any part of my brothers life has been _easy?_ "

"I-"

"You have made him _smile_ , Halfling, carefree and happy smiles, after _so long_. Do you even know what you are responsible for?"

"It... I-"

"If nothing else, Thorin deserves your honesty," she finished, firm and unyielding, standing from the bench abruptly, though she tucked him back in gently, and even leant to kiss his forehead softly, while he could only stare, helpless and feeling really quite small.

"Find your courage, Bilbo Baggins. You'll discover you have plenty to spare, if you have trust in yourself. And in my brother."

Without another word or even a glance, she walked calmly away, leaving Bilbo shivering and cold again, even with his furs.

And feeling no less better about any of this business than he had when he come out here to begin with.

Bugger it.

***

Thorin had ended up declaring the day of Erujól an Ereborian holiday, to be celebrated by _all_ , and while the Dwarrows were all ecstatic by the idea, there had been much debate over the main celebration. A great feast for everybody but those stuck with the cooking and the serving and the clean up after, or private celebrations amongst family? In the end, Thorin had held what was apparently a Dwarven 'people's court', where any could come and join in the discussion, with a decision made by all involved. They were what was used for delicate issues the King did not feel he could make, apparently, though Balin had admitted that they were a sound political tactic when a King faced opposition no matter his move. 'The people cannot complain about decisions they themselves have made, after all,' Balin had said. 

The people's court was terribly complicated, in Bilbo's opinion, with rule after convoluted rule. For example, one could place their hand on the hilt of their weapon to emphasise their anger at another's view or point, but the tightening of a fist on a hilt was a show of unneeded aggression, though not severe enough to evoke retaliation. The partial drawing of a weapon had a list of allowable maiming as punishment, each specified according to the particulars, but death was prohibited, while the full draw had a penalty of anything from shaving of ones beard, to full beheading, depending on the nuances of the draw. Certain phrases issued prior to the draw were a formal challenge, though, and whole scrolls of procedure to each situation to consult in that case. The rules and prohibitions on insults were even longer, and that of hand to hand settlement was formal to the extreme.

The whole lot gave Bilbo a headache, since as far as he could see, it was simply formalised brawling, but apparently it worked. He had been far too scared to venture into the great amphitheatre where the discussion was to take place, but had not been able to help himself lingering nearby, since it _was_ his holiday that was the cause of the fuss. 

Despite his worries, all the Dwarrows in attendance -practically all of them in the mountain, Bilbo had thought- had left happy, very much alive, and with all limbs intact as far as he could see, and hardly any blood spattered about. (Fíli and Kíli had both been very enthusiastic about giving him a 'blow-by-blow' of the proceedings, but in the end, after he had berated them soundly, they had simply given him the verdict.)

The Dwarrows of Erebor, it seemed, wanted it all. They wanted feasting and merriment the night before, a morning of quiet gift exchange in the morning, and a grand feast for all in the afternoon, to extend well into the night. With the condition of a quiet day the day after.

Exactly as Hobbits did it, he had told them. They had berated him soundly for not saying sooner, as it would have made the decision making much easier.

Bilbo had huffed and flounced off in a fit of exasperation.

 _Dwarrows_.

That had been a week ago, and part of the decision had been a way of making it so that every Dwarrow in the moutain would enjoy the celebrations equally. The solution had been lots, drawn by _every_ Dwarrow in the mountain, even to the King and his noble Company, to issue to them a certain task they would be responsible for.

Except Bilbo of course. He'd had to demand a job, and been quite exasperated (again) that they seemed bewildered by the idea of him doing anything at all. Instead, he'd been designated the role of consultant, and had keen Dwarrows seeking him out for his opinion more and more as the event drew closer.

_Dwarrows!_

Thorin had drawn set-up duty, on the day before, and was responsible for helping to lug the massive kegs of ale and mead from the storage halls, up to the feasting hall, and setting them to tap, as well as lugging great pallets of tankards up to a table.

Bilbo was _not_ missing this.

And so, here he was, the morning of Erujól eve, waiting for Thorin to finish with a meeting, to see him down to the halls on the pretext of part of his consultant duties.

Really, he was just very keen to see Thorin in rolled-up sleeves, all sweaty and bulging muscle....

Bilbo swallowed and made himself focus, turning to admire his tree once again. Really, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

(Besides a certain Dwarrow, that was.)

Tree. Looking at the tree. Absolutely not thinking of Thorin and his flexing muscles.

He'd ended up hanging his beautiful little Hobbit and Dwarrow decorations on the very front of his tree, and they looked so very happy, swinging together amongst the boughs. He'd asked if anyone had been interested in crafting an elf as well, half joking, and ended up with Thranduil's elk instead. It was adorable and done in a style that was cute and a bit absurd, and it made Bilbo laugh, so he'd hung it with his Dwarrow and Hobbit and had a giggle every time he saw the combination. 

"You're under the mistletoe," Thorin said behind him, and Bilbo grinned, setting one of his bells to tinkling and turning to the sneaky Dwarf.

"I am," he admitted, reaching for a berry, even as Thorin stepped closer. He didn't really need a hand wrapped around that beard-braid, Thorin more than happy to lean down for his kiss, but it was lovely, and Bilbo had to reluctantly admit to himself that he thought of it as _his_ braid; Bilbo being the only one who had ever touched it, as far as he knew. And so he gripped it possessively and leaned into that wonderful kiss, and pretended for a moment that this was acceptable behaviour on his part.

"Hello," Bilbo said into the tail-end of his gentle, lingering kiss, sighing happily.

"Hello, my Hobbit," Thorin grinned, taking the mistletoe berry and curling an arm around Bilbo to steer him out into the corridor. 

Bilbo smiled, feeling a stab of guilt, and the resulting melancholy setting in again.

"Nothing I would rather be, but..." he murmured, and Thorin frowned a little in confusion.

"What was that?" 

Bilbo was not entirely sure what to say. Find his courage, Dís has said; but he wasn't brave at all. He was a Hobbit.

"A Hobbit," he said, quietly. "I am a Hobbit, and while not a very good one at times, running off on adventures as I have, there is nothing I would rather be."

"You do not sound happy about this," Thorin said, drawing them to a halt a few paces shy of the store room where Thorin was to get to work, turning Bilbo to face him, frown of concern in place. "Has somebody belittled you for this? Within the mountain?"

"No," Bilbo shook his head, feeling silly at making such a fuss over his own little illogical paranoia. "I just wonder at times, what a simple little Hobbit from the Shire is doing here, in a place much grander than he is meant for."

"Grander?" Thorin asked, a little incredulous, but he scooped Bilbo back into his side and walked them slowly towards the store room. "You are the grandest creature within this mountain, and there is nothing simple about you. You are not just a Hobbit, Bilbo Braveheart, you are the best of Hobbits. And you are _our_ Hobbit." 

"I'm not," he insisted, when Thorin released him at the door. "Brave. I'm not."

"I could argue that fact all day, Bilbo, listing your great deeds, but I've work to be done. Bilbo," Thorin sighed, stepping forward and brushing his curls back, cupping Bilbo face in his palms. "Bravery is only doing what needs to be done. You have far more courage than you know."

He swept his thumbs over Bilbo's cheeks once, and leant to kiss him one last time, before pushing the store room door open and letting it shut behind him.

Bilbo stared at the closed door a moment before tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, warmth curling through him.

"More courage than I know?" he mused, staring at the empty spot where he had expected to find mistletoe.

***

It was Yani who finally asked.

Bilbo had wanted to go and brood quietly for a while, but it was Erujól eve, and there was so much to be done! He'd ended up (after moving to a balcony for some ogling of Thorin straining under his end of a massive cask a time or two) in the kitchens, helping where he could, since the more that was done now, the less there was to be done when everybody would rather be with their families, or working their way through the ale.

The day had seemed to fly by, and all of a sudden, Bilbo was racing back to his rooms to prepare for the great feast for the night. He'd selected an outfit for both this evening and the next day, and tonight, he was dressed much like his little Hobbit decoration, in green trousers and weskit over clean white linen, though he had forgone the belled cap for a woven wreath of ivy with sprigs of mistletoe he had woven in at the last minute, nervous excitement pooling in his belly at the use of such a thing.

Which went _exactly_ as he had hoped, arriving at Thorin's receiving room ready to join the Company in heading down to the main feast. Everybody seemed to be in attendance already, little ones racing around and shrieking in delight, and the family members all chatting happily together. Bilbo kept to the doorway, however, peering around until he spotted Thorin yabbering with Yani and Farn and Glóin, and waited until the King finally looked up.

Thorin stopped dead, mouth still open on his last word, staring at Bilbo, who gave him a wink and ducked back into the hallway. It took all of about twelve seconds for Thorin to join him, breathless and glowing.

"You've got mistletoe..." he said, staring at Bilbo's head.

"I do," Bilbo grinned. Thorin pouted with mock mournfulness.

"I cannot be under it with you, though. You're too short."

"Oh dear," Bilbo said breathless and hopeful. "Perhaps you should do something about that."

He'd barely finished speaking before Thorin had picked him up, jerking Bilbo's legs around his torso to hold him up, and Bilbo's arms went automatically around Thorin's neck, even as Thorin's went under his bum and around his back, holding him firm and secure against his great barrel of a body.

"That's better," Thorin said in satisfaction, and Bilbo laughed in delight, reaching up to pluck a fruit from his wreath and lean forward to claim his kiss. 

And a few more beside.

And that is how the Company and all their family found them, giggling and kissing and Thorin spinning them around while they did so.

"Oh, that is just..." Dori said, fishing a handkerchief out to dab at his eyes, and Bo started to coo, leaning dreamily into Dwalin's side.

"Finally," Kíli said in satisfaction, and then the whole lot of them were clamouring and Bilbo giggled and claimed one more kiss before Thorin lowered him to the ground and tugged him into his side, the two of them setting off for the feast with the horde following behind making one hell of a racket.

Which was just fine, since walking into the hall was an even greater cacophony of sound, rising to a resounding cheer when they spotted Thorin, jugs and tankards all rising into the air in greeting to their beloved king.

It did not take a lot to get this particular party started. Those delegated to fetch the food went and did so, returning with those that had been finishing the cooking, and the entirety of Thorin's people were there, packed together, eating and laughing and singing without care.

They threw themselves into the concept of feasting with great enthusiasm, but yet not very much like the night they had invaded Bilbo's home. Oh no, that night they had been boisterous and noisy, but Bilbo knew now there had been a hardness to that party, that of relishing one last good meal before they marched off to what was likely to be their deaths, the raucous laughter a cover for a softer sort of resignation and a finality, of commitment to the cause. 

_This_ mood was nothing but joyous, and while there was some food throwing here and there, mostly it was laughter and cheering and impromptu jigs and near _constantly_ a dwarrow would be up upon a table raising his jug for a toast to somebody, even one little tot got up on the table at one stage and made a toast to himself while his mother berated him into getting down, and the entire hall shouted a resounding 'To young Fet!' at the top of their lungs. Bilbo was sure he had never laughed so hard in his entire life.

There was music all about, random Dwarrows producing instruments and strumming and banging and singing, and Thorin tugged Bilbo up and into a dance, joined by bunches of children and enthusiastic couples and trios, all spinning and giggling along to the stomps and cheers of the watchers.

The food, of course, was outstanding. Bilbo had insisted that he acquaint some of those cooking with the funny little green things that were herbs, so all the great sides of meat that had been slowly roasting for hours in the cavernous kitchen ovens were crusted in herbs and lovely oils and some in flavourful jams and in lovely fruits, and the smells alone were enough to make a Hobbit of any age weep with the joy of it. There were all the things that Bilbo had known and loved for as long as he'd been a Hobbit; breads and scones and cakes and puddings and cheeses and, oh, all sorts of delicious things, but there was also traditional Dwarven dishes, many fish dishes, the meat having been fished from the great Silver fountain of a waterfall that Thorin was apparently lord of, and more unusual dishes that were apparently fast Dwarven favourites, like the funny flatbread, topped with cubes of potato and coated with a seeded spicy mix sprinkled across, a recipe that hadn't been made in many years, at least not properly, according to Dori, because half the traditional spices were only available from the East. Bilbo was not the only one to trade heavily with the Easterners, apparently.

It seemed to go on for hours, yet the festivities never faltered, and Bilbo danced with near all the Company, and half his new family members, and what seemed to be every guard ever assigned to follow him about the place. A few Dwarrow had even been brave enough to pick a berry from his crown and gift him a kiss, much to the amusement of all around him. He'd sung and ate, and gossiped and told stories and ate and danced and ate some more. On and on until all of a sudden he was yawning and exhausted, and his Dwarrows all seemed to settle into a quieter sort of contentment. 

"Anyone care for a cup of tea before bed?" Bilbo asked idly, and that is how the Company and their family members all came to be back in Thorin's receiving room, quiet and content, the children dozing on laps and on the lovely soft fur in front of the fire, Bilbo's beautiful tree glowing in the low light.

And that is when finally, finally Yani was the one to ask.

"What exactly _is_ this celebration?" she asked, nibbling on a pastry she had snagged from the hall to have with her tea. She shrugged when everybody looked at her. "I mean, I love it, but what's all the fuss about?"

"Do you know, Yani, that you are the first Dwarrow sensible enough to ask that question?" Bilbo said, leaning back into Thorin's shoulder. Thorin squeezed him in silent reproach, chuckling slightly.

(Thorin had tugged him into his great big armchair closest to the fire when they had settled in for tea, lifting the Ri brother's niece up when she had looked longingly at his lap -or at the plate of sugar biscuits at Thorin's elbow. One or the other. Either way, they were a small pile of snuggle, the three of them now. And Thorin couldn't look any more content, Bilbo was positive.)

"So, none of these twits have bothered to ask, in all this time?" Foli asked, slightly incredulous.

"I suppose this _is_ our lot we're talking about," Yuna said.

"They're not usually this doltish, though," Baljak defended, perhaps, or perhaps not, since Fíli moaned in mock indignation at the wounding words, pouting until the lass leant in for a nuzzle.

"We're not that bad!" Bombur defended, and Yfar patted him indulgently on the head, and then ruined it by rolling her eyes in Bilbo's direction. He giggled along with the niece -Harna, he was certain- and rubbed his cheek contentedly against the fur trim on Thorin's coat, knocking his crown akimbo.

"You really are," Bilbo said happily, grinning at them all. Thorin's chuckles rumbled through his chest, and Bilbo shared a shiver of delight with Harna when it echoed through the ear pressed to Thorin's chest.

"Well, I know they call it Eru's feast!" Bofur said triumphantly. 

"Erujól," Bilbo corrected. "It means Eru's feast, but we call it Erujól. The Men, and some Stoor Hobbits living more west and south call it Eruyól, or simply Yól and I have since discovered that the local pronunciation amongst the Men of Laketown is Yule."

"Is there a reason we feast in Eru's name?" Bo asked from her perch atop Dwalin's thighs, giggling when he snuffled his beard into the back of her neck as a way of asking for another biscuit too far out of his reach, and she passed him a pile, which he took with a happy hum.

"There is. If you would like to hear it, I will certainly explain," Bilbo said, half sure they would shrug it off- after all, it was quite late, and they were all very sleepy. But no, they had all perked up, and were turning in their seats to face him like all the little faunts would do when he offered a story back in the Shire.

"Tell us your tale, little Hobbit," Thorin said when Bilbo did not immediately start, low and teasing, smile upon his face. "We are all dying to know. Teach us of your winter Yól."

"Erujól," Bilbo said with a huff and a smile, taking a puff of the pipe Dori handed him and passing it back, settling back to gather his thoughts.

"Alright, but the short version, mind you," he said sternly. "It goes like this: In the beginning," he began, "all that was, lay in darkness. When the Valar came and brought order to the world, they desired light, so your Maker, great Aulë crafted two beautiful lamps, lit with the assistance of Varna and Manwë, to light all of Arda. Melkor, however, hated all that the Valar set out to accomplish, and he, well, he destroyed them, and plunged the world to darkness again. The Valar fled across the ocean, and established the kingdom of Valinor, where they now reign.

"But Lady Yavanna, she sang a song of creation, and two trees grew in the new lands of the Valar, two great trees. One was bedecked in gold, pure golden leaves, and that tree was Laurelin. The other was a dark green tree, but every leaf had an underside of silver, and his name was Telperion. And the trees were tended by Yavanna, and watered with the tears of Nienna, and from the light of Telperion, bright guiding stars were crafted and sent into the sky, and there was light again in the lands.

"Melkor, however, sought to destroy the light again, and enlisted the help of a terrible spider creature, who struck at the trees with poison. Despite Yavanna's song, and Nienna's tears, the trees could not be saved. Only Telperion's last flower and Laurelin's last fruit could be salvaged. From those were fashioned the moon and the sun, sent to the sky far beyond Melkor's reach, to forever light the land for all.

"I'm sure you've all heard that story before," Bilbo finished, looking about him. 

"The Dwarrow telling embelishes Aulë's trials developing the Lanterns, and also great Mahal's part in fashioning the sun and the moon from the trees last offerings," Balin told him, nodding thoughtfully. "Somehow, though, I doubt a Hobbit holiday is focused about the great engineering of Mahal, Lord of Craft."

"Sort of," Bilbo laughed. "But also, not really. Do you know what this night is?"

"Twas a grand old feast night, that's for sure," Bofur said, with a happy pat to his stomach.

"It is the longest night of the year," Bilbo said over Bofur's happy hum. "Winter is at its deepest this time, and this night will be the longest night of this year. From here, every night shall grow shorter, until the Spring comes, and the days grow longer. But for now, before there can be Spring, and Summer, we must endure the longest period of time we are ever without the Sun, sweet Arien and her light that brings life to the land. 

"The time when we are most without light, this time of year where the days grow colder, the light dwindles from everyday life, this is the time to appreciate all that we have most. I'm not explaining this very well, am I?" Bilbo scrubbed one hand across his face, and reached across to test the heat off the tea pot, pouring another cup for himself and settling back. "It is hard to explain concepts one has grown up with all their life, I am sure you can understand."

"Light is important to Hobbits," Yuna said, nodding like it made perfect sense. "You miss it, and you honour it in its absence."

"Yes," Bilbo agreed, though somewhat hesitantly. "It is deeper than that, still, though. It is the understanding of the way of things, and our faith in that."

"Faith in what?" Ori asked, leaning in further, his sisters almost a mirror image of his eager face and bright eyed interest either side of him.

"Faith," Bilbo said firmly, "that there will _always_ be light. No matter how many times evil things will attempt to take that from us, it will come again. This night, this very night, will be long and cold and it can feel like the Sun never intends to rise again. But it _will_. No matter what happens, the sun will rise in the morning, light always comes to darkness, there is always a reason to rise from your bed in the morning. And so we gather together all that we love; our family and friends, the best feast we can manage, wonderful gifts, and we make plan to come together in great celebration tomorrow, because there will _be_ a tomorrow. The Sun will always rise for us, because it was made so long ago. Eru's song has set this path, and there will always be a new day, and a new morning of light. And while Arien hides for the night, this long, long night, Tilion, Lord of the night will reassure us with his moonlight, and even when he disappears, too, for the night, there is the light of the Stars, created from the light of Telperion by Varda. There is always light; there is always hope. And _that_ is worth celebrating, if only to remind ourselves that this long, long night will end."

The Dwarrows said nothing to this, all quiet for once, and Bilbo leaned himself back onto Thorin's nice shoulder for a while, yawning. Harna yawned with him, and rested her little head down on Thorin's chest and promptly went to sleep, and Bilbo thought that Thorin never looked so content, nuzzling into the little one happily. 

"The tree?" Fíli asked tentatively.

"In the tales, there was tell of a variant of Telperion surviving, kept by the Elves, and that there was one in the city of Gondor -that was cut down, if you can imagine!- but I have never seen one of those before. The Telpe trees are named for their similar description to the original; dark green foliage that fades to silver and clumps into flower-like formations at the tips makes it a good substitute for a real Telperion. We decorate it traditionally in yellow fruit to honour Laurelin's golden fruit that later became Arien the Sun, and silver flowers that became Tilion the moon, and stars for the light used from Telperion to make the heavens. And whatever else takes our fancy, these days."

"And the, the..." Balin's cousin Galf waved a hand about at the bits and pieces Bilbo had hung, though he looked more bewildered than distrustful of it all. "What about all the _green_ stuff?"

"They are all things that thrive and grow through Winter. It is another reminder that Winter is not death of the all that grows, but the World sleeping for a time. A quiet rest before the Spring's renewal. Sometimes Hobbits need that little reminder. And it is very pretty," he finished a little snottily, grinning at the assembled family.

Dís leaned forward, mouth opening with another question no doubt, by the curious look on her face, but Kíli bounced up and shushed everyone.

"That was all very fascinating and I liked your story a lot, Bilbo, and this holiday has lots of meaning that I will think about later, but right now it's bed time!"

"Since when are you happy to be bouncing off to bed?" Yani asked, bewildered, and Kíli grinned wide and excited.

"Bilbo said it is traditional to come together to exchange presents when one wakes on Erujól morn, so, come on everybody! I am so excited, I have the _best_ gifts for everyone, and I cannot wait to give them out. Up!" he commanded, flapping at Balin and Holf and Rifur closest to him, until they stood, all amused, but content enough to obey the younger Dwarrow. 

All at once, everybody seemed to yawning and stirring, and then it was a flurry to pack up tea trays and collect children, and Thorin volunteered to carry Harna for her mother to their chambers, loath to disturb the sleeping toddler from her contented slumber. Bilbo stretched lazily, mentally nudging himself into moving long enough to amble back to his room, but Thorin turned to him before he stood with the child.

"Wait for me to return?" he asked softly, and although a little surprised, Bilbo nodded, sinking back into the cushions gratefully. Thorin slid his fur-lined surcoat over him and Bilbo sighed and snuggled under it, sleepily blinking at the activity around the room.

He really had meant to get up and help Dís, Yuna and Holf with the tidying and rinsing of the tea service, but next thing he knew, Thorin was crouched in front of him, smiling fondly, and the room was dim and quiet, empty save for himself and his Thorin.

"Hmmrmph," he tried, too sleepy and content to find his words, and Thorin chuffed a laugh.

"I had meant to ask you to stay with me tonight, little Hobbit, but I think I should take you to your bed," Thorin said ruefully, and Bilbo woke a little at that, but not really enough, the long eventful night finally catching up with him, and he only blinked a little as Thorin slipped big arms around him and lifted him carefully.

Bilbo managed a small noise of protest, burying himself into Thorin's chest and wrapping one hand around that wonderful beard braid. It really was getting long and thick enough to be two, or even three braids, Bilbo had decided recently. For now, though, it really did make the most delightful hand hold.

"Stay with you," he murmured, yawning once and letting himself drift again.

"You really are too sleepy for that to be an informed decision," Thorin said, after what felt like an age to Bilbo's barely conscious mind, his voice low and with a great wealth of _something_ Bilbo was not awake enough to analyse. "But I find myself weak, tonight."

Bilbo mumbled something that was supposed to be an admonishment for, something, and nosed his way a little deeper into Thorin's neck, and went to sleep.

***

There was something about waking up on Erujól morn. No matter how old Bilbo grew, or how many Erujól morn's he had spent alone, even, he still woke with the same flutter of excitement in his stomach and the involuntary stretch of delight to accompany it.

He'd never quite woken like this, though.

Really, a sensible Hobbit would be alarmed at waking in a bed that was not his own, but Bilbo had noticed and calmed at the oddity before he even opened his eyes. The bed he was in was Thorin's, he was certain. It smelt like his King, and the warmth at his back was just perfect, and the hand cradling his Hobbity-belly was so very large but terribly gentle, and the little huffing-snores Thorin made when he was sleeping well were familiar from many nights of camping in the middle of the Throne room antechamber, back when Erebor was newly claimed and restoration beginning, and Thorin would lay his bedroll close to Bilbo's to help keep him warm in the beginning of the winter in one of the only chambers known to be structurally sound at the time. 

There was nothing about his waking that did not subconsciously tell him that he was safe, as well as comfortable and well rested, and while a normal Hobbit may be up and about and spluttering at the impropriety, Bilbo was not a normal Hobbit anymore, and so his reaction was to have another bone-deep satisfying stretch, and roll over, and bury his face into Thorin's chest. 

Thorin grumbled wordlessly, and his arm shifted and tightened around Bilbo for a moment, before he sighed and settled again, though the little snores did not restart, so he would wake soon, Bilbo was sure. 

It was still early, it certainly felt early, and Bilbo was fairly sure that had it been after dawn, Kíli would have been in to wake them already, demanding to hand out his gifts. He had, according to Fíli, been working on many gifts in his spare time, down in his little workspace in his guild, and trading amongst the other guilds, and visiting the Market stalls of Dwarrow and Men and even _Elves_ , and Kíli's room was bulging with gifts now, that he was _very_ eager to hand out. Since Bilbo was not much better, and he was fair convinced that _all_ his Dwarrows had done the same, he hadn't let Fíli tease his brother too much, especially when he had spotted Fíli balancing a rather hefty pile of parcels wrapped in muslin and pretty ribbons on his way down the hall a few days ago. 

No, this morning promised to be a wonderful one, full of delighted shouts of children and adult alike, and Bilbo was as excited as Kíli for one of his favourite part of the celebrations to begin. Before that, though, there was something he had to do. Bilbo was very sure he had some time before that, regardless, and so he was going to enjoy this wonderful moment right now, content and comfortable and pressed against the person that meant more than any other to him.

There was a very faint recollection of dreaming of having his feet washed, Bilbo remembered, and wriggling his toes, they felt like they had been prepared for bed properly. He was down to his shirt and his trousers, his waistcoat and suspenders and bits and bobs were all missing, and by the feel of it, Thorin had kept himself fairly clothed as well. 

What a pity.

The arm around his waist firmed and pulled him in a little closer, Thorin's body wriggling and obviously waking, and Bilbo nuzzled up to meet the lips already seeking his own.

"Mmm," he hummed happily, sliding his hands up to wind his fingers into the loose hair at the base of Thorin's skull, kneading and tugging. Thorin groaned happily, running his great beak of a nose against Bilbo's, pressing their foreheads together.

"Joyous Erujól, Thorin," Bilbo said quietly, smiling at Thorin's slow, bleary-eyed blink of contentment.

Thorin hummed at him, arching his head into Bilbo's kneading fingers like a great sleepy cat.

"Joyous Erujól," Thorin finally rasped, just when Bilbo was convinced he would start to purr, nuzzling his nose against Bilbo's again.

"I have to go," Bilbo admitted reluctantly, leaning in for another kiss when Thorin's eyes shuttered. "I don't want to leave this bed, believe me, but there is a tradition I must..."

"I understand," Thorin said, laying a few snuffly kisses across Bilbo's cheek and down his neck, rolling up above Bilbo for a moment for one toe-curling kiss filled with heat and tongues, but it gentled almost immediately, and Thorin held their foreheads together for one long moment, studying him carefully, finally smiling ever so softly and rolling slowly away to rise.

Bilbo sighed and wriggled one last time to enjoy this most wonderful of beds, before slowly sitting and starting the slide to the side of the great big, honestly, who needed a bed this big? You would think that Thorin was hosting whole harems in here. 

Thorin was waiting for him, holding out his great fur coat, and Bilbo's eyebrows climbed high in his head at the sight of it and his lovely warm boots waiting on the floor.

"The sun will rise in the morrow. An affirmation, yes?" Thorin said quietly. "I thought you might need them this morning."

"Thank you," Bilbo said, rubbing at his chest as his heart threatened to simply burst out of him. 

"May I join you?" Thorin asked, kneeling now to help Bilbo on with his shoes, the act still an oddity for him.

"Of course," Bilbo said thickly, brushing a hank of silver-streaked hair away from Thorin's face, smiling when Thorin tipped his chin and flicked his eyes up in a rare show of bashfulness. "Come and greet the sun with me."

Thorin smiled at him, wide and sincere, and slipped off to dress, and Bilbo wandered out of the bedroom and down the hall into the receiving room to wait by his tree.

Which the bottom half of was now completely out of sight, thanks to the mountains of gifts beneath it, Bilbo's there also- apparently moved by some not-so-mysterious agent in the night.

He stared at the sight, wide-eyes moving enquiringly to Thorin when he appeared.

"You said gifts went beneath the tree to be opened," Thorin said, shrugging, and Bilbo shook his head at him.

"You just wanted to try and peak," he grumbled, and Thorin grinned, leading him out to the halls, Bilbo wrapping an arm around Thorin's waist for the quiet walk.

Bilbo was _most_ surprised to find that they were not the only beings on the battlements when they emerged from one of the great arches atop the walls of Erebor, Dwarrows already quietly waiting on the terrace. From what Bilbo could see, leaning over the rail, half the mountain was against an open-air window or balcony, all quiet and contemplating.

"What?" Bilbo asked the closest person he recognised, the Ri's sister -with her signature red hair, already turning Dori's magnificent silver at the edges- Moli turning with an impish grin at his incredulous expression.

"Good morning!" she said, tipping a little half bow to Thorin. "And auspicious tidings for the feast of the creator. I hope you do not mind us all joining you this morning?"

"Ah... no?" Bilbo said, head whipping back and forth to take in the Dwarrows leaning on columns and kipping propped against walls and chatting in small groups, half of them in what Bilbo knew to be the Dwarrow equivalent of night shirts. 

"I'm afraid that after parting ways last night, our Nori headed back to the hall with Bofur and Holf for a bit more carousing, and apparently, the story you told spread fairly fast. I do hope this is not meant to be a private thing?" she said when he continued to gape.

"I- No. Not private. I just did not expect..."

"Expect what?" Kíli yawned, appearing beside him and draping himself over Bilbo's side, and Thorin extracted his arm from around Bilbo's shoulders, and stretched to include Kíli in what was becoming a Dwarrow squish-hug. "Presents come after greeting the sun?" Kíli asked plaintively.

"Yes," Bilbo sighed, when Kíli plonked his face into Bilbo's shoulder with a snuffle.

"So early," Ori whined, shuffling up to huddle against Kíli, wrapped in a blanket. 

"Happy feast of the yule and stuff," Bofur mumbled, plonking himself at their feet.

"Erujól," Ori corrected, yanking the blanket up past his nose.

"Joyous Erujól to all of you," Bilbo said around the lump in his throat, as the rest of the Company and family all trickled in or over from other chatting groups to surround him quietly. Even the little ones were there, he noticed. 

Had every Dwarrow turned out to this silly little Hobbit custom? He had not even explicitly _said_ anything.

"You had not expected Dwarrows to care for the coming of a new dawn's light, tucked away in our mountain?" Thorin asked him, a mere breath of voice low in his ear.

Bilbo shook his head, not certain he could trust himself with speech. Damnable Dwarrows.

"Do you know what the greatest treasure of our people has been for many many years, now, my halfling?"

Bilbo resorted to shaking his head again. 

Thorin nuzzled his mouth in closer, pressing his lips to the skin just under Bilbo's ear for a moment affectionately.

"Hope, my Bilbo. Hope, and each other, is all we had to horde and keep as our own, as Dwarrows horde treasure. How can we not be moved to witness the dawn, when you claim it a promise of hope for the future?"

"I don't think I claimed that," he managed, hushed and sniffling.

"You didn't have to."

Bilbo had absolutely nothing to say to that, and instead turned to the horizon, lightening more and more by the minute, a sort of still anticipation hanging in the air, now, with every lightening of the sky from grey to hazy purple to the palest of pinks, until finally, finally, long minutes later, the first rays broke over the far-off rise, and a sort of sigh-like shift in sound spread out around him, as if the Dwarrows all about him had taken and released one big breath. 

He tilted his head back, eyes closing until he felt the sun hit his face, and then sang, the wordless tune of thanks for the coming of the day and the end of the longest night, counting off in his head the joys of his life in his head until he was done, grinning and complete when he opened his eyes. 

"You didn't tell us _that_ part," Balin said reproachfully, and Bilbo laughed and laughed, and just like that, the Dwarrows were chatting and heading back into the mountain.

"Presents!" Kíli said loudly, bouncing and well awake now, and then all the littluns were squealing, and the lot of them tearing away, and Bilbo tightened his arm around Thorin when he made to follow the others, holding him in place.

"i have a present for you," he told Thorin calmly.

"And I have several for you," Thorin grinned. 

"This one I would like to give you now, if you don't mind," Bilbo said. 

It was odd. There should be nerves and stuttering, and doubts and such, but, well. The moment perhaps? Not courage, he was fairly certain, but such a moment was too good for worry and fear. 

"I find, Thorin," he began. "That you have inexplicably, somehow, become the centre of, well, everything in my life. I find I have tied most of my happiness into the joy of seeing you, seeking out your presence, coaxing out your smiles, listening to your voice. It's quite perplexing, really."

Thorin was staring at him, eyes rounding out in amazement, and Bilbo rushed to finish before those horrid doubts crept back.

"I wish you to know, that you have, well, me. My gift to you is my unconditional love, though I know it a poor gift, really." He shook his head when Thorin opened his mouth, and instead ploughed on. "And so, I know that you have offered me a home here, in Erebor, I find that I really must profess the depth of feelings I have for you, so you may decide with full knowledge, whether it would be tolerable for me to remain, knowing what exactly you mean to me, after all-"

"Do you really think," Thorin said abruptly, cutting off his rambling. "That I would find the idea of being beloved by you so awful that I would send you away?"

"Well..." Bilbo trailed off and shrugged, eyes dropping. "I'm just a Hobbit," he said with a sigh. "Quite nothing when considering your, your," he broke off and gestured expansively to the bulk of Thorin and the area surrounding him. "Your _everything_."

"What a foolish thing to say," Thorin said, gently and laughing, and Bilbo looked up into a happy gaze, the crinkled skin at the corner of each sparkling eye quite enchanting, for some reason. "You are an irritating creature. Don't you know, that a grumpy decrepit Dwarrow seems like quite a lot of nothing when considering the _everything_ that is a brave little Hobbit of the Shire? Especially one adored by every Dwarrow, Man and Elf that meets him."

"They do not," Bilbo protested weakly, leaning into the hands that came to cup his cheeks and bring his face up to Thorin's.

Thorin chuckled, thumbs smoothing over the bridge of his nose and down his cheeks, and leaned in for one lingering, close mouthed kiss.

"Uncle," Kíli said impatiently, head poking around the doorway. "Time for presents!"

"Coming Kíli," Thorin sighed, pulling away and tucking Bilbo back into his side.

"Do you really not know the depth of my own affection for you, Bilbo?" he asked, as they walked, ambling along after Kíli, who raced ahead. "I do so love you, my hobbit."

"Oh," Bilbo said, turning the thought around his head. "I had hoped, but did not think... I suppose that's good then?"

" _I_ thought so," Thorin said with a huff, and Bilbo laughed.

"You know," Thorin said tentatively, as they turned a corner. "The room you have claimed is really not large enough for your... _everything_."

"I suppose so," Bilbo admitted, hiding a smile. "I don't suppose, well. Your bed was awfully comfortable..."

"It is," Thorin agreed, nodded seriously. "And you spend so much time within those rooms as it is..."

"I do." Bilbo nodded as well. "It would be convenient for everybody, really..."

"Very convenient," Thorin said, struggling to hide his smile as they approached his, _their_ rooms.

Kíli's head appeared around the doorway suddenly, face impatient.

"Uncle, _presents_."

*** 

The room was a mess of _stuff_. There were swords balanced on piles of new steel-and-leather boots, feather pillows and jars of jams. Satin robes and embroidered sashes and flagons of special oil for beards. Pretty stones and intricate bracelets and silver filigree bowls and special candles in vibrant colours, soaps and scents and fluffy towels, axes and daggers and funny bits of specialty armour, decorative and functional. Shields with specific crests and marks and scrolls to display in that language that Bilbo knew nothing of, heartfelt letters and paintings and prints, and books galore. Rugs and blankets and pure silver tankards and platters of beaten engraved gold. Brooches and badges and beads and tiny decorations for beards and braids. Combs and brushes and odd, intimidating paddles that were apparently for hair, but that Bilbo had decided he would like no knowledge of, thank you very much. Cakes and sweets and wrapped buns, surcoats and jerkins and good woollen socks, fabrics and new needles and fine silk threads, tapestries and jugs and vases, and even a large weaving loom sitting in one corner, an impressive gift from Fíli for Baljak, a weaver by trade, and a finer loom than ever she had seen before.

At the centre of it all was a pile of little tykes with Dwalin, and the Ri's with their sisters, playing with the new kittens that had been acquired for the children. 

(No matter the sceptic looks aimed Bilbo's way -apparently, the concept of a 'pet' was a foreign one- the Dwarrows were soon discovering what an amazing thing it was that Bard's cousin's mouser had surprised them with a large litter in the hay barn the month before. And wasn't that a sight? Battle hardened Dwarrows fast growing smitten with the soft fur and innocent purring of the half-dozen fluff balls. Bilbo was never letting _that_ image fall from his mind, ever.)

There had been Dwarrows in and out of Thorin's ( _their_ ) receiving room all morning; Dwarrows that were friends and family to the ones he called friends and family, small families coming to pay homage to their king -and somehow, Thorin always had a small something ready to gift the unexpected subjects that appeared, and all left with faces shining and happy- and his own Dwarrows ducking in and out to see different people they had gifts for. Several Dwarrows had been in to see Bilbo, even; those he had befriended of the guard and in the kitchens and on his walks to market and along the battlements, and he was glad that he had formed several packs of sweeties and odd bits and pieces of whim for those very Dwarrows beforehand.

Bilbo was quite smitten with every single bit of the pile of gifts sent his way, a hefty pile of books, quills that were not quills at all and came with the ink within, what Thorin called a pen. Baking pans new and shiny and without all the dints like the ones he was using from the kitchen; parchments and new weskits- with quite the Dwarven flair, but very dapper- and a new velvet coat like the one he had run out his door in, a pile of jewels, for the Dwarrows found his lack of adornment distressing. Decorative pieces for his room, though he did not think any of his Dwarrows had realised yet, that they would be adorning Thorin's rooms now, and a _beautiful_ new teapot from Thorin, with matching delicate tea cups and saucers and milk jug and sugar pot, and even a waste bowl, and a fine silver tray and the most intricately wonderful tea caddy to match, that was clearly Thorin's work. All boxed in a fine wooden case lined with velvet, done by Bifur, and inset with gold decoration done by Glóin's careful hand. The tea set was finer than anything Bilbo had ever owned before, a special clay that elves used, apparently, and Bilbo was stunned to realise that Thorin had freely traded with Elves to acquire something so precious for Bilbo.

There was so much more, and Bilbo would have to go through it all to remember who and what and write the appropriate thank you notes, but his prize gift that had delighted him above all others, was a rose bush in a very large pot.

Really, the thing should have been nothing more than a dormant stick, being that it was the middle of winter, but Thorin had worked with Bard and _Tauriel_ to find what he wanted, and have it blooming and beautiful and ready to appreciate on Erujól. Tauriel had used elvish magic, apparently, to coax the stub of rose branch to bud and form roots, and Bard had helped Thorin to build a hothouse high on the east side of the mountain for him to keep it warm and flowering. And Thorin had been _tending_ to it, bashfully explaining his careful pruning and pinching back of dead flowers, watering and positioning to find the best of the light to it when Bilbo had stared in shock at the sight of the happily green thing in the intricate marble pot.

The rose was beautiful. A climbing variety, with big floppy soft pink blooms, just a hint of white through the centres. It would climb well on a trellis, and perfume the air all through the spring and the summer, year after year. A beautiful rose.

It was Thorin's care of it, and dedication to learning the art of growing things to present something to 'remind Bilbo of the home he was leaving behind to live with them' , 'something to start a new garden'- Thorin's words. _That_ was what made the gift the one that Bilbo had clutched to his chest, overwhelmed by the joy and gratitude of the moment. 

It had been a morning filled with cheers and awkward speeches of presentation and gratitude and children squealing and laughter, so many smiles, and so much laughter. And tears. Apparently Bilbo was not the only one brought to the brink of overwhelming feelings by the clumsy affection of the twits he had claimed as his family, and there had been many a sniffle, especially when Dwalin had bluntly asked Bo if she would consider making their arrangement more permanent, shoving a box gently into her hands and blushing a dark red all the way across his bald head and down his neck.

(Bilbo had already agreed to help plan the first weddings the reclaimed mountain would see, Fíli and Dwalin both determined to wed as soon as possible, which would be more mountain-wide celebrations by the sound of it. He couldn't _wait_.)

And so now, Bilbo was standing by his tree, alternating his gentle touches between the decorated masterpiece his family had made for him, and the rose that Thorin had brought in to existence and tended to for him, listening to the bright tinkle if the bell anklets that Fíli had made for all the children that had promptly gone around limbs, and sneaking peaks at the Dwarrow of his heart, who had started out merely talking idly with Bifur, Rifur, Balin and Holi, but had since managed to snag two of the tots and one of the kittens and snuggle them into his lap, contentment in every inch of his relaxed frame. If Bilbo hadn't been completely in love with him before, he would be now, seeing the tender, satisfied way he held the tinies, and the fond looks complete with bright easy smiles he directed at Bilbo every once in a while.

"I have an announcement," Bilbo said suddenly, turning to the group. It was hard to tell with a party this size, whether everybody important to him was there, but they seemed to be, and at least, all the Company was present.

"I am afraid I may miss part of the feast tonight," he told them regretfully. "As I must begin to pack my belongings."

"You're _leaving?_ " Ori cried, face twisting in grief, and one of the tots began to cry, though no doubt because of the sudden outbreak of sound an expression of unhappiness from all the adults in the room rather in direct response to Bilbo's announcement.

"You can't," Dís said, hushed and face white. 

"You said you wanted to stay with us," Óin said, clutching his trumpet, and Nori, who clutched back. These idiots, _honestly_.

"Don't go," Fíli and Kíli managed to cry in unison, stumbling forward over gifts and children to clutch at him, and Yani appeared to attempt to wrap her smaller arms around the lot of them.

"You really don't have that much to pack," Thorin said calmly, having finished soothing the children in his lap. 

"I need at least my dressing gown," Bilbo said, patting at the boys backs.

"Oh. Well, I may have already retrieved that last night when I retrieved your coat and boots," Thorin admitted. "It's hanging in my wardrobe."

"Very certain of yourself, were you?" Bilbo teased, ignoring the incredulous tear-stained faces slowly removing themselves from his neck.

Thorin ignored that comment, stroking the kitten, though a tell-tale redness stained what little Bilbo could see of his ears.

"You really do own very little else, and the bulk of your possessions are what you received today- and they are already here. No need to miss a feast, is there?" Thorin concluded. "Not very Hobbitly at all."

"True," Bilbo admitted. "I suppose I can fetch the rest tomorrow."

"The day after," Thorin said. "Tomorrow is a rest day. King's decree, you know."

"Oh, well, if the _King_ had decreed it..." Bilbo laughed.

"Wait," Nori said. "Wait. So, you, and Thorin..."

"You lot certainly jumped to very fast conclusions," Bilbo said mock-crossly.

"You and Thorin, and... Bugger."

" _Yes!_ " Dís suddenly shrieked. "Suck it, sons of mine. You owe me five full days each of cleaning duty!"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Fíli deadpanned. "You mean that _today_ of all days, you two decide to grow a pair?"

"How could you do this to us, Bilbo?" Kíli asked, pouting.

"Never bet against your mother," Dís cackled.

"Could have told me that _before_ ," Nori grumped, handing over a pouch to his mother, Foli beaming triumphantly at him as she accepted.

"Mothers know," Yfal said dreamily, shooting Bombur a look, and he flushed and beamed. Bilbo really did not want to know what stakes had been laid out on _that_ table. On the other hand, there might be a new little one for the next Erujól celebration, going by the adoring looks Bombur was shooting his wife.

"Well, that's not gross at all," Gimli said lowly to Bel, who stuck her tongue out with a twist of her face that set her younger siblings to giggles.

"Bets or not," Bilbo said loudly, drawing the attention of the room back to him. "I take it none of you have any... objections, then, to myself becoming a resident of Thorin's rooms?"

"'Bout time," Dwalin said, appearing next to him and shoving the lads aside to lift Bilbo clear off the ground and kiss him soundly. "Mistletoe," he said blandly, setting a very startled Bilbo back on his feet.

"You rotten- !" Thorin yelled, cutting himself off in deference to the two rapt children in his lap, attempting a glower through his suppressed laughter. At least Bo was chortling madly and not in the slightest bit angry at her betrothed kissing Bilbo. Thank goodness.

"So, when did...?" Hruk asked Bilbo, probably the first time that Holi's husband had ever spoken directly to Bilbo. Surprisingly, Dori's brother was quite shy.

"Bilbo confessed his love for me on the battlements after the sun rose, this morning," Thorin announced proudly, and Bilbo blushed darkly while his Dwarrows all cheered.

"Oh, that's lovely," Dori cooed, and no doubt, they would have been swarmed under with well wishes and increasingly invasive questions, had Bombur's young Bru not professed loudly that he was ' _hungry_ adad', and a Dwarrow almost immediately after appearing, popping his head around the door and asking whether they were coming to the feast or not.

With that, Bilbo managed to shoo the lot of them out the door, falling in to step with Thorin at the tail end of the procession to the Erujól feast, hand winding into Thorin's easily.

"I do," Bilbo said quietly, eyeing the arches above the corridor they wandered. "I love you dearly, my Thorin."

There was mistletoe above the next intersection, but Bilbo did not wait to reach it, tugging Thorin into an alcove and in behind a great stone statue.

"I do so love you, my Bilbo," Thorin murmured, lips fusing to Bilbo's.

They were going to be somewhat late to the feast.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it isn't very good. *sigh*
> 
> Regardless, Merry Christm- er, Joyous Erujól, peeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Next part tomorrow, I hope. *snugs all*


End file.
